


Versions

by Wordweaver



Series: A Wild Combination [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, Developing Relationship, M/M, Nakamaship, ZoSan - Freeform, sanzo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordweaver/pseuds/Wordweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoro and Sanji are planning to see each other again. Preferably without their very interested friends tagging along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tell All Your Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Versions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10674765) by [ejovvika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejovvika/pseuds/ejovvika)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace spoke again from behind him. “So I take it that the two of you saw in the new year by celebrating with the horizontal tango.”
> 
> Zoro, taking his plate of food out of the microwave, gritted his teeth. “Some people might say that’s none of your fucking business.”

Zoro slid into a seat, as the bus pulled away. His gaze lifted to the window. Sanji was standing on the sidewalk, one hand lifted in what might have been the beginning of a farewell wave. The bus accelerated and the street slid away, before Zoro could do anything to respond. He half-turned in his seat, twisting his head to look backwards... But the bus stop and the chef were already gone.

Zoro shifted to face frontwards again. The bus was half-empty, with people scattered along its length. Small groups of teens talking loudly and sharing earbuds from their MP3 players; a few couples; old people staring out the none-too-clean windows. Zoro took in the entire scene before allowing himself to settle back with his head against the window and half-close his eyes.

_Shit, I’m beat._

A mostly sleepless night hadn’t been entirely compensated for by rising so late today. He wasn’t sure what time he and the chef had finally gotten to sleep, but it couldn’t have been much before six in the morning.

Memories of the night before – and their session on the couch just a little while ago - brought a smile onto his face.

_Worth feeling a little ragged for._

 

 

A sudden and very clear memory of exactly how it had felt to have Sanji moving on top of him, blue eyes gazing down into his, those lean muscled hips pushing against his own, came into Zoro’s head. Bringing with it a burn of blood into his cheeks half a second later, so that Zoro took a breath and sat up straighter in his seat, opening his eyes wide.

_Getting yourself off while on public transportation... Not a great idea._

He covertly glanced around. No-one seemed to have noticed that there was a sexual fantasy playing out at the back of the bus, at least for the time being. Feeling the flush slowly fading from his face, Zoro doggedly stared out of the window and thought about mundane things for the remainder of the journey.

 

 

Once the bus had reached his stop, he stood for a moment on the street; glancing around to orientate himself. The evening had been coming on when he’d got on the bus: now it was fully dark, the air bitingly cold against his skin. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

His fingers brushed against something. The folded piece of paper that Sanji had given him, with the chef’s telephone number. Zoro drew it out, unfolding the paper so he could see the number drawn on there in neat, firm writing. And underneath, just the single word ‘ _Sanji’_ .

He smiled. Then folded the paper again, intending to replace it in his pocket. As he did so he saw something written on the reverse: paused, and flipped the paper over.

On the other side was drawn a careful sketch map, showing the bus stop he’d just alighted at, a dotted line indicating the shortest route to walk to Powell Street... and a stick figure of himself with a question mark over its head, apparently puzzling which way to go. A large arrow pointed towards the dotted line. Beside it Sanji had written the following instruction.

_‘Take this way home. If you’re still walking after half an hour or you hit the river, you’re lost.’_

 

 

Zoro scowled at the piece of paper, his fingers tightening on it.

_Smartass fucking cook -_

He could almost picture the mocking grin on the chef’s face; one of those spiralled eyebrows raised a little.

 

 

Voices and footsteps on the sidewalk made him look up: a trio of youths approaching, loud conversation exchanging back and forth. Zoro shoved the piece of paper back into his pocket and stepped forward, heading in the direction indicated by Sanji’s map. The youths eyed him as he passed, but he ignored their attention. Planted his hands in his pockets and headed for home.

 

 

The stairwell in the apartment block echoed to the sound of his footsteps, as he climbed to the floor that the apartment he and Luffy shared was on. The light in the stairwell flickered on and off: it had been on the fritz for a while, but no-one had got round to reporting it. Or most likely, someone had reported it but no-one had done anything to fix it. Their apartment block was down at heel, slipping gracelessly into shabby; but Zoro didn’t mind that. The rent was pretty low. He’d lived in plenty worse places.

He twisted his key in the lock. It stuck, as usual, till he encouraged it with a little extra force and a nudge of his shoulder against the door. Stepping into the welcome warmth of the apartment he smelled food, spicy aromas drifting down the hallway. Muffled noises reached him: television, or voices, or both. Hanging up his jacket – after taking Sanji’s number from the pocket first – Zoro moved to the door that led to the rest of the apartment and pushed it open. At once the smell of food and the noise increased. The television at one side of the room was at almost full volume, showing some kind of urban chase sequence; two heads at opposite ends of the couch were gazing at the screen. As he came fully into the room, both twisted round and two faces registered his arrival.

Approximately half a second later, the younger of the two men on the couch sprang upright, his face spreading into a wide grin. “Zoro! You’re back!”

“Nothing gets past you, Luffy.” Zoro walked past the couch and sat down in the sagging armchair to one side of it. “Hey, Ace. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks." The older man on the couch nodded at him, with a wry smile. "What - no card, no present?"

Zoro let out a jaw-cracking yawn. "Next time we're out somewhere remind me to buy you a drink."

"Be still my beating heart." Ace ironically placed one hand on his chest. "Where’ve you been, anyway? We were wondering where the hell you were at.”

 

 

“What happened to your face?” Luffy inspected Zoro curiously.

“Nothing.” Zoro made a dismissive gesture.

“I called you a bunch of times... But you never called us back.” Luffy folded his arms, regarding Zoro with a slight frown. “We were gonna wish you happy new year.”

“Yeah? Sorry. Lost my phone.” Zoro shrugged.

“Ah?” Luffy pursed his lips, then gave a slow understanding nod. “Okay... Last night I wanted to tell you to come meet up with us - we got invited to this great party. An awesome music system, really kickass DJs. The place was packed!”

 

 

“Sounds great.” Zoro smiled at his friend’s typical enthusiasm. “What was the club?”

“Not a club, it was in this empty building down by the river, a bunch of folks just took it over for the night and put on the party... They were cool, up for anything.”

Zoro looked at Ace. “So... an illegal party, right?”

Ace smiled again. “Uh huh. We met some guys at one of the bars we went to, they told us about the party. So we figured we’d check it out. Being as how there was a _birthday_ to celebrate.”

“It totally rocked!” Luffy was almost bouncing on the couch. “There must’ve been a couple hundred people there.”

“And no-one noticed it was going on?” Zoro wondered how it was possible for something that big to happen in a city without attracting the interest of the authorities.

“Well, a shitload of cops turned up at six a.m. to bust things up, but most people got away.” Luffy shrugged cheerfully.

“Right.” Zoro let his gaze shift to Ace, who was now lying back against the end of the couch with his hands clasped behind his head. “Sounds like an interesting way to spend New Year’s Eve.”

“Beats drinking in a bar and singing Auld Lang Syne, for sure,” Ace responded.

“There was a ton of stuff going on before the cops showed up. There was a stage beside the DJs, people doing acro and street dance moves.” Luffy gestured towards his older brother with one thumb. “Ace did his fire show.”  
  
At Zoro’s glance, Ace grinned. “Some guy there was flinging fire poi about and pouting at the masses. I thought I’d give him a demo of how it ought to be done.”

 

 

“Sounds like you guys had a blast.” The television let out a loud roar of soundtrack, and Zoro shot it a look. “Speaking of blast... What the fuck are you guys watching?”

“District 13,” replied Luffy.

“Again?” Zoro rubbed a hand through his hair, yawning once more.

“We felt the need to unwind by watching people flinging themselves off tall buildings and moving vehicles. With a kicking soundtrack.” Ace stretched out one arm to the floor until he located the remote, and turned down the volume a fraction. “Also we got take-out. There’s some left in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

“Mhh...” Zoro stood up. “What’d you get?”

“Indian.”

That explained the spicy smell. Zoro felt his stomach growl a little: it had been a while now since the breakfast Sanji had cooked him. “Sounds great.” He stood up. “You guys want anything?”

“I’m still hungry, just bring through whatever’s left ,” said Luffy, his attention already returning to the movie.

“I could use another beer.” Ace got up off the couch. “I’ll come get it, though. Need to stretch my legs.”

 

 

Zoro said nothing to this but headed through to the kitchen. On the table in there, several take-out containers lay on one of the counters. He crossed to them and peeled up each lid in turn, checking out the contents. Behind him he heard Ace move to the refrigerator and open it: the clink of bottles. A moment later Ace’s voice reached him. “You want a beer too?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Zoro got himself a plate and doled out rice and a selection of food from the various containers, before putting it into the microwave. Once he’d set the timer and pressed start, he turned to stand in front of the counter, leaning back against it. Ace stood opposite, also leaning against a counter. He held out a bottle of beer: Zoro took it from his outstretched hand, with a nod of thanks.  
  
“There’s more in the ‘fridge, if you want it. Help yourself.”

“This is fine. I’ve got an early start for work tomorrow.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Ace picked up a bottle opener from the counter and eased off the cap. Raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip, holding out the opener to Zoro. “Got a busy week ahead?”  
  
“Yeah.” The hum of the microwave at Zoro’s back made a steady sound: the smell of warming food drifted out to him, sharpening his appetite. Which didn’t take away from the fact that something was off, about this apparently casual conversation.

 

 

Ace regarded him. Setting his beer down on the counter, he said quietly, “Y’know... Luffy may seem like nothing bothers him. But he was actually pretty worried about you, last night.”  
  
Zoro set the opener against his own beer bottle: flicked off the cap. Raising the beer to his mouth, he took a swallow. Feeling Ace’s gaze hanging on him. “He doesn’t have anything to worry about.”  
  
“Kind of difficult not to worry, when you pull a Lost Weekend on us. Luffy called you, like, ten times.”  
  
Taking another sip of beer, Zoro gave Ace a slight smile. “Whoever wound up finding my phone last night is gonna be pretty confused when they listen to those messages.”

 

  
Ace looked back at him with not a hint of an answering smile. “I know you have the mental capacity to understand why Luffy – and, incidentally, yours truly as well – would be somewhat freaked out by you not answering your phone all fucking night. And today. As we knew you were out there on your lonesome somewhere. And given the significance of the date.”  
  
Zoro took in a slow breath. “I was okay. I’m sorry you guys were worried... but shit happens. I told you, I lost my phone.”  
  
“And got into a fight.” Ace folded his arms. “Which I’m guessing means you were probably trying to see just how the world looks through the bottom of a bottle.”

Zoro set his own beer down with a thump. “Shit, Ace - it was fucking New Year’s Eve. I had a few drinks. And yeah, there was a fight, but for your information the other assholes started it.”

 “Assholes plural?” Ace let his eyebrows lift. “I wondered how some poor sucker landed a punch on you. I just figured you must have got paralytic.”

“No, I was not paralytic.” Zoro found his hands tightening into fists: forced them to relax. _Don’t get angry. He’s not doing this to fuck with you. He’s so used to being big brother to Luffy, he winds up big-brothering the whole world._ “I went to a club; had a few drinks; some jerk started getting in my face and I dealt with him. And his dick-brained friends. Of which there were several. Hence this shit.” He jerked his thumb at his face, indicating the bruise and cut. “The club tossed us out for making trouble, after which I realised I didn’t have a phone any more, presumably because it fell out of my pocket while I was busy dealing with the afore-mentioned assholes. Which is why I didn’t get any of Luffy’s damn calls.”

 

 

Ace studied him for a moment. Then gave a slow nod. “Okay. So that’s what happened last night. But where did you go after the club threw you out?”

Zoro hesitated for a moment. Then decided there was little point in concealing where he’d been. “I met a guy at the club. I crashed at his place.”

Ace looked first surprised, then deeply interested in this piece of news. “You met someone?” A sly smile spread over his features. “As in _‘ met’ _ someone?”

_Only fucking Ace could make the word ‘met’ sound like something out of a porno movie._ Zoro looked at him levelly. “That’s what I said.”

Ace’s insinuating grin persisted. “And you stayed over at his place till now? Way to go.”  
  
The microwave beeped to signal the food was warmed through, giving Zoro the opportunity to turn his back on Ace and try to avoid further interrogation. An attempt that was, of course, doomed to failure.

 

 

Ace spoke again from behind him. “So I take it that the two of you saw in the new year by celebrating with the horizontal tango.”

Zoro, taking his plate of food out of the microwave, gritted his teeth. “Some people might say that’s none of your fucking business.”

“Lame, disinterested people, maybe.” Ace sounded like he was still grinning. “But your cool and _totally_ interested friends say otherwise.”

Zoro turned back to face him, letting the other man see the flatly unencouraging look on his face. “Anyone ever tell you, you’re an annoyingly persistent nosy son of a bitch?”

“All the time,” Ace replied, his grin not diminishing one iota. “And don’t try putting your frowny fuck-you face on me. I’m immune to it.” At Zoro’s exasperated out-breath, Ace gave a half shake of his head. “C’mon, man. Dish. I want sordid details.”

“Is your sex life seriously so empty right now, you need to hear details of mine?”

“Oh, you want to compare?” Ace’s smile took on a dangerous edge. “Let’s just take a look at yours, for starters. From zero getting laid in the last six months to getting some major all night action, I’m guessing... That’s a growth rate of, like, a zillion per cent. Pretty impressive.”

“Fuck you,” growled Zoro, grabbing a fork from a drawer.

“No, seriously, I’m happy for you.” Ace gave him a double thumbs-up. “This is a good. I was beginning to wonder if you’d taken a vow of celibacy, some kind of kendo warrior thing... Which would have been such a waste, by the way.”

“Ace, you are the most annoying fucker I know. And considering I also know your brother, that particular bar is set pretty high.” Zoro glared at the other man.

Ace chuckled. “Relax. I mean it, I’m happy for you. That’s not me bullshitting you. I’m really glad you had a good time last night.” His smile dropped a little, into a slightly concerned look. “Uh... You _did_ have a good time – right?”

Zoro felt his irritation damp down a little at the other man’s concern. “Yeah, as it happens. I did.”

This time Ace’s smile was genuine. “Then that’s cool.” His eyes rested on Zoro. “I know that you said when we headed out last night to celebrate, that you didn’t want company... But we figured maybe you might change your mind, and come hang with us. That’s why Luffy tried to reach you. And then when you didn’t answer your phone...” He stopped.

 

 

Zoro tried hard not to push what was being offered away. “I’m sorry if you guys were worried.”  
  
Ace gave a small shrug. “Well... We know what New Year’s Eve can be like. For you.”  
  
This was way too close to the bone. “I’m a big boy, Ace. I don’t need you and Luffy to worry about me.”

Ace regarded him silently for a few seconds... then made an airy gesture with one hand. “Okay. Consider me unworried.”

Zoro nodded towards the take-out cartons. “My food’s getting cold. You want to grab those and take ‘em through for your black hole of a brother?”

Ace scooped up the leftover food in an unstable stack in his arms, before following Zoro out of the doorway.

 

 

The television had resumed its ear-shattering volume in their absence. Ace winced as he dumped the take-out cartons on the low table in front of the couch. “Shit, Luffy... You think you could ease up a little on the loud?”

Luffy looked round with wide-eyed puzzlement. “Huh?”

Ace shook his head, before plucking the remote off the floor and using it to dial down the television volume several notches. “A little quieter, dumbass. It’s not like this movie is heavy on the meaningful dialogue.”

“I like it loud,” Luffy answered.

“So we’ve all noticed.”

Luffy seemed about to argue further, when his eyes lit upon the take-out containers. “Ahh – food!” He uncoiled from the couch and began delving through the leftovers, enthusiastically emptying each container onto a plate that he’d retrieved from the floor. “Yum...”

 

 

“You plan on leaving any of that for me?” Ace enquired, reoccupying the far end of the couch.

“Wha’ ?” Luffy looked up, midway through engulfing a massive mouthful of food.

Ace cocked an eyebrow. “Never mind.” He shot Zoro a mock-apologetic look. “I’ll bet you have to eat your meals quick, living with the Incredible Mouth here.”

Zoro toed off his boots, before resting both feet, crossed at the ankles, on the low table in front of them. Taking a forkful of food from his own plate, he grunted assent. “Yeah, well... It kinda runs in the family, doesn’t it? You’re a pretty mean eating machine yourself, Ace.”

Ace shook his head. “I have a healthy appetite. My kid brother here has a stomach that connects with a wormhole into another dimension.”

“Leasht I can ftay awake for more’n hour at a shtretch,” rejoined Luffy indistinctly, through a mouthful of food. He gave a painful swallow before adding, “You must’ve slept through half the day since we got back here.”  
  
“That’s because we were partying all night, idiot.”

“Nah, you’re always like that. I never get why you do it. You’re missing out on all kinds of really cool stuff.”

“Maybe it’s because I need the occasional break from the chaos you invariably wind up in the centre of. You ever consider that?”

“Borrrr – ing.” Luffy pointed a finger at him. “You’re getting boring now you're a whole year older.”

“Any grey hairs I wind up with, you’ll be the one responsible for putting them there.” Ace stretched his legs out along the couch, laying his feet in his brother’s lap. “Make room for your elder and better.”

“Hey! Mind my food!” Luffy held his plate up out of the way with both hands, then let out an _Ufff_ as Ace planted both feet in his groin. “Shit - take it easy, Ace!”

“Ahh, that’s better.” Ace folded both arms behind his head and settled comfortably into place.

“Jerk,” growled Luffy.

“Whiner,” countered Ace.

 

 

“Guys,” interjected Zoro, gesturing at the television, “you want to keep it down a little? Your mindless violence is drowning out the mindless violence.”

Both brothers turned their attention onto the other man. Ace assumed a self-reproachful expression. “Oh sorry, I forgot: you’re probably suffering from severe exhaustion. We should let you rest up.”

Luffy looked from his brother to Zoro. “What’s he mean? Are you okay, Zoro?” His gaze fell on the bruise and cut on the older man’s face, and he scowled. “Did someone fuck with you, last night?”

Ace let out a snigger. “Well as it happens... That’s pretty much _exactly_ what happened - ”

“Shut the fuck up, Ace!” interrupted Zoro.

“Did you lose a fight?” demanded Luffy, his eyes widening a little. “You _never_ lose a fight. Who did you run into?”

“No. I won a fight. And it was no big deal, just a bunch of drunk assholes in a club. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Now tell him where you spent the night, and the _actual_ reason you’re so short of sleep,” chipped in Ace.

Zoro looked at him, then at Luffy’s expectant face... And laid down his fork. “Maybe I’ll just skip supper and head straight to bed.”

“Oh, okay – I’ll fill Luffy in on the details of your exciting night.” Ace’s tone was casual.  
  
“You don’t _know_ any of the details.”

“Bet I could make some pretty convincing ones up.” There was a wicked glint in Ace’s eye.

 

 

Zoro glared at him for several moments, but the other man’s expression showed no signs of him yielding to reason. At last Zoro let out a long breath. “Nnghh....” He glanced at Luffy, who was still waiting to hear whatever was coming next; an expression of slight puzzlement on his face. “I met someone at the club. A guy. And I... stayed over at his place. That’s where I was, last night.”

“And today,” added Ace, obviously enjoying this.

“You met a guy and went back to his place?” asked Luffy. “Was there a party there? That’s cool.”

“No. No party.” Zoro hoped the conversation would end there. Knew, with a sinking feeling of inevitability, that it wouldn’t.

“Oh.” Luffy considered for a moment. Then, “ _Oh..._ ”

 

 

Ace smiled. “It takes him a while, but he gets there in the end.” He lifted one foot and nudged Luffy in the ribs. “Shut your mouth, bro, you’re attracting flies.”

Luffy closed his mouth with a snap. Gazed at Zoro for a few seconds, then asked, “So... you went back to this guy’s place. Was he one of the ones you’d been fighting?”

“What? No.” Zoro frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno.” Luffy shrugged, resuming eating. “Just wondered.”

Zoro’s gaze travelled to where Ace sat, regarding his younger brother with a tolerant smile. Ace met Zoro’s look with a look that said plainly, _Hey: it’s Luffy. You were expecting a sensible question?_

Zoro really wasn’t. It wasn’t that Luffy was stupid: it was just the whole sex thing seemed not to interest him in the slightest. The few times Zoro had seen people come on to Luffy, the younger man had appeared oblivious to what was going on. He was physically demonstrative with his friends, to the point that Zoro often had to fend off rib-bruising hugs at inappropriate moments; and he responded to affection like a big kid, revelling in it and returning it with interest. But Luffy didn’t seem to want or need anything more than that. Which made it all the harder to manage the conversation they were having now.

 

 

Ace asked the next question. “So you said you met this guy at the club you went to. How’d he react to you getting into a fight there and getting tossed out?”

The corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted. “He joined in.”

“On your side, I’m hoping,” Ace dead-panned.

“Well, yeah.”

“And then what?”

“He got thrown out of the club too. Actually, he got fired. He was working as a bartender there.”  
  
“You got him fired? And he still invited you home? Holy shit.” Ace looked impressed. “Either he must be the forgiving type, or you put some serious moves on him.”  
  
“I didn’t do shit. I was standing in the street outside the club deciding where to head next and he walked up, started talking to me. I think he was pretty pissed at me, at first. But then he invited me back to his place... So I figured, why the hell not.”

 

 

“So he’s hot, right?” Ace let his eyebrows raise suggestively. “Or was it the fact that he can serve you alcohol that was the main attraction?”

“Oh, fuck you, Ace.” Zoro picked up his fork and resumed eating. “Anyway, he was only tending bar there as casual staff. The guy’s actually a chef by trade.”

“A chef? Like, a professional cook?” Luffy leaned forwards. “That’s awesome!”

“So did he make you breakfast?” Ace asked. “Or were the two of you too busy going at it to stop and eat?”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “When you ever get that mind of yours out of the gutter, let me know.”

“I’m lying in the gutter, but I’m looking up at the stars,” intoned Ace solemnly.

“In answer to your question: yeah. He made me breakfast. The guy can seriously cook. And I’m not just saying that because I wind up eating greasy take-out with you two losers most of the time.”

 

 

“Okay, now would be the point where you stop calling him ‘the guy’ and actually tell us his name.” Ace hooked one arm over the back of the couch. “As your friends, we have a right to know.”

Zoro snorted. “If I tell you his name, will you quit bugging me and let me eat?”

“Sure.”

Zoro eyed the other man sceptically. “His name’s Sanji.”

“So he’s a chef and he can fight. And he’s hot. What’s he look like?”

Turning his gaze determinedly back to his food, Zoro ignored the question. “Eating now.”

“Pfff...” Ace let out a disgusted noise. “C’mon. Give.”

“Still eating.” Zoro trained his eyes on the television. “Hey, let’s all watch the movie.”

“Contrary fucker...” muttered Ace, but fell quiet.

 

 

A while later, the take-out containers stood empty on the table. Stretched back in the armchair with one arm folded behind his head, Zoro felt his eyelids growing heavy. He let out a jaw-cracking yawn that interrupted his view of a fight scene; another followed in swift succession. Lifting one hand to rub at his eyes, he sat up. “Mhm... I’m beat. Think I’m going to hit the sack.”

Luffy craned his head over the end of the couch, peering at him upside down. “But the movie isn’t over yet!”

“I kind of remember how it turns out, from the first five times I watched it with you.” Zoro yawned again, and stood up, snagging his plate from the table and piling empty take-out cartons on it. “Seriously, I gotta crash. I’ve got to be at work for seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“I ought to head for home, too.” Ace also stood up, picking up his and Luffy’s empty plates.

“Noooo!” Luffy pouted, from his almost horizontal position on the couch. “Don’t go yet! It’s no fun watching movies on my own.”

“Tough shit.” Ace balanced the plates in one hand, reaching out and tangling his fingers into the younger man’s hair and tousling it roughly. “I’ll see you soon, kid brother. Try to stay out of trouble.”

“Ow!” Luffy clutched at his head. “I’ll do what I want.”

“Yeah. You will.” Ace gave him a lopsided smile, before heading for the doorway.

 

 

Zoro dumped his plate in the sink and the empty cartons in the trash. Ace followed suit, before picking up his hat and jacket where they had been hung on the back of a chair. Shrugging his arms into his jacket sleeves, he nodded at the other man. “Good to catch up with you. Even if you’re being a total tight-ass about sharing the skinny on your night of passion.”

Zoro smiled, leaning back against the counter. “Good to see you too, birthday boy. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.”

Ace set his hat jauntily on his head. “As ever, the prince of social niceties. You might want to work on that if you want this Sanji guy to ever see you again.”

“We’ve already agreed to meet up again.” Zoro shrugged. “So I must have done something right.”

“Oh ho, follow-up date already?” Ace paused in the doorway. “Smooth. Where are you going?”

“We’re going to meet at the gym, do some sparring. Sometime next week, if I can swing a practice space.”

“Sparring?” Ace looked at Zoro as if he was mentally deficient. “You had hot all-night sex with this guy, then he cooked you breakfast... And you suggested getting together for a _fight_ in a room smelling of other people’s sweat as your ideal date?” He shook his head pityingly. “You are so lacking in imagination. Not to mention smarts... I don’t suppose he’s going to be too enamoured if you smack him face-down into a gym mat.”

“He was into the idea of sparring.” Zoro shrugged. “And I’ve seen him fight. He can handle himself okay.”

 

 

A calculating look came onto Ace’s face. “Can I come and watch?”

“No.”

“He wouldn’t have to know I was there.”

“No.”

“All right, relax.” Ace picked up his backpack from the floor, and fastened up his jacket. “May you have an exciting time knocking hell out of each other. And I’ll look forward to meeting him at some point. He sounds like quite the character.”

 

 

Once Ace had gone, Zoro ran a little water onto the dirty plates in the sink, deciding that washing them up could wait for the next day. He headed back through to the main room, where Luffy still lay prone on the couch, watching the television. Stopping just in his field of view, Zoro said, “I’m gonna crash. Figure you can keep the volume down below rock concert levels?”

“Mm mm.” Luffy nodded vaguely, eyes on the screen.

“See you tomorrow.” Zoro moved towards the doorway that led to the rest of the apartment. He was almost there when Luffy’s voice reached him.

“Zoro?”

Zoro stopped and looked back. His friend was regarding him. “Yeah?”

“This guy Sanji. You like him?”

“Well, yeah.” Zoro gave the younger man a wry smile. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have stayed over at his place.”

“You should bring him back here sometime.” Luffy gave him an encouraging smile in return.

“Maybe.” Zoro didn’t bother trying to explain that it was early days yet.

“He could cook for us!” Luffy’s smile broadened. “I’ve never eaten food made by an actual chef. That would be so cool.”

Zoro snorted. “Inviting him round so he can feed you wouldn’t exactly be the definition of a fun night out.”

Luffy looked hopeful. “I’d wash the dishes.”

“Forget it.” Zoro shook his head. “I’ve got to get my shit together for work tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, if you’re up and about before I head out.”

“Okay.” Luffy looked slightly forlorn at being abandoned to his solo movie fest, but Zoro knew from experience that within five minutes the younger man would be happily immersed in what was playing out on the screen.

“ ‘Night.” Zoro turned and headed to his bedroom.

 

 

It had been just over week since he’d last been at work at the gym, so it took a little while to get his stuff together and packed into his bag. The early morning start the next day was atypical: he usually started around ten a.m., leading timetabled classes and giving one-to-one coaching until sometime between six and ten in the evening. But with the start of the new year and the drive to recruit as many new members as possible there would be a hell of a lot of paperwork to get people signed up and logged onto the gym’s database, on top of the usual gym sessions. And for the next couple of weeks he had a heavy work schedule. He’d deliberately planned this, volunteering to cover extra classes for other gym staff who’d taken advantage of the Christmas and New Year break to take a longer holiday. From experience, Zoro knew that keeping busy was the best remedy for dealing with the dark cloud that usually descended on him at this time of year. Working a lot of hours meant he got home tired, with just enough energy to eat before dropping into bed and falling asleep. It kept him focussed on the basic essentials: work, kendo training and the day-to-day routine. No spare time for thinking. Or remembering.

Or at least, that was the theory. Until last night blew all that out of the water.

 

 

Zoro found himself standing holding his gym bag, frowning into space.

_How the hell did that happen?_

 

 

Slowly he placed the bag by the door, where he could grab it in the morning. Moved back to his bed and sat down on it, letting his arms rest across his knees. Finally let the memories of last night surface in his mind. All of them.

The fight in the club: a blur of movement and impact, with a backbeat of bass-heavy music, the swirl of voices. The smell of warm bodies, sweat and cologne and alcohol. The feeling of release, after an evening of holding back the dark heavy weight that was pressing down on him. The sharp-clawed thing that he’d been trying to deaden by tipping drinks down his throat until he could almost taste them there. Everything two-dimensional and far away, not reaching him.

The shove from that drunk asshole at the bar broke through the numbness. Tipped some switch in Zoro’s brain, pulling him back into here and now. And he’d welcomed it. The fight: the chance to let loose, to do what his body ached to do, to break through the grey feeling of not really being there. Even when the fist connected with his face, cutting into his skin, it felt better than just sitting at that table watching the level in his sake bottle fall. It was the simple call and response: fight, hit, put the other fucker _down_ ; and he knew how to do that. Had always known how to do that.

And then out of nowhere came the swirly-browed bartender, kicking the fucker who’d apparently been about to deliver a sneaky hit with the bottle from behind. And even now Zoro could recall how he’d felt, seeing the other man enter the fray. Royally pissed off. Because it was _his_ fight, he didn’t need anyone’s help, he was going to take every one of those ignorant shitfaced fuckers down. And he was going to enjoy doing it.

Except that within a couple of minutes he and the bartender were the last men standing, in a closing circle of unamused-looking security guards. And roughly two minutes after that Zoro was standing in the street outside, wiping blood off his face on the sleeve of his shirt and discovering that he no longer had a phone. Nor did he have a clear idea of where to go next. Which may have had something to do with the amount he’d drunk in the club. He was a little fuzzy even now about how much he’d put away in there.

 

 

_\- You were probably trying to see just how the world looks through the bottom of a bottle._

Ace’s words from earlier echoed in his head. Zoro scowled at the floor. He hadn’t been drunk at the club. Not entirely. Just trying to take the edge off what had turned out to be a not-so-smart decision, to go to that over-priced trendoid dive in the first place. An impulse driven by that free ticket; some great Christmas bonus that had turned out to be. He’d found himself surrounded by assholes, but lacking the will to find somewhere else to go. Opting instead for the reliable fallback of alcohol, trusting it to bring on a buzz, cut through the numbness or else increase it till he could wake up the next morning with little memory of the night before.

Buying that bottle of whiskey and drinking half of it, though: that hadn’t been a smart move. But he’d been thrown by the bartender’s invite back to his place; then by realising that he actually wanted to go, that he wanted to act on the attraction he’d felt towards the irritating blonde. He had wanted to wipe that smirk off the other man’s face. Half expecting a quick fuck, another kind of release, maybe as almost as violent and as quickly over as the fight that had preceded it.

 

 

Then the bartender had revealed that he was, in fact, a chef. By producing possibly the best meal Zoro had ever eaten in his life. And had followed that not with a proposal that they fuck, but instead with a conversation. About work, and ambitions, and dreams, of all crazy things. A conversation that Zoro, to his surprise, had found himself happy to take part in.

Right up until the part where Sanji had asked him about the second sake glass. That _had_ been outside Zoro’s comfort zone. So far outside it that he’d felt a flood of anger that had nearly pushed him up off the couch and straight the hell out of Sanji’s apartment. Yet the chef hadn’t backed off. Hadn’t been diverted for long, by Zoro’s counter-attack. Instead Sanji had just sat still; and stated quietly that he was okay with listening. And that, as it turned out, was all it took for that wall of grey numbness to crack open.

Zoro could blame the whiskey. He could pin it on it having been three a.m. and his head being as blurry as anyone’s in the godforsaken small hours of the morning. But the fact remained that he’d been drunk before on New Year’s Eve, plenty of times. Had stayed awake the whole night, either by choice or because sometimes even drinking failed to put him out. But this was the first time he had told somebody the whole story, about him and Kuina. Even Luffy didn’t know some of the things he’d told the chef last night.

 

 

His eyes still gazed downwards on the floor just in front of him. As if the slightly scuffed carpet with its faded histories of previous occupants was going to yield up the answers he was looking for.

_Why him?_

 

It was as if the chef’s listening had somehow acted as a key, unlocking a closely-guarded door, and everything had fallen out.

_Maybe he put some kind of truth serum in that food he dished up._

Zoro felt his mouth twist wryly. _Yeah, because beer, sake and whiskey were in no way implicated._ He didn’t know why exactly it had happened: but whatever the reason, he’d spilled his guts. Sanji’s quiet listening had drawn it out of him like poison from a wound. And the chef hadn’t freaked out, or pitied him, or recoiled from what had been essentially a stranger going into emotional meltdown on his living room couch. Which Zoro was still kind of freaked out about himself.

What Sanji had done was simply listen. And had then shared that glimpse of his childhood, which had sounded like he’d experienced some pretty intense stuff himself. That he knew what it felt like when life dealt you the shitty end of the stick. But the chef hadn’t shared this in a self-pitying _Hey, feel my pain,_ sort of way. More as a point of normalisation. Recognition.

 

 

Zoro didn’t know what all this meant. His brain was tired and his body was petitioning him for sleep and the last twenty-four hours was turning into a carousel of images blurring into each other. And almost every one of those images had Sanji somewhere in it.

When he’d first seen the blonde man at the bar in the club, he’d mentally scoffed at the silk shirt, at the long bangs of hair obscuring one eye. Had noticed the weird spiral of the bartender’s one visible eyebrow with the thought, _Fucking poser._ And then when he’d ordered his first drinks, the fuck-you attitude the bartender had plainly conveyed stoked up Zoro’s antipathy so that he’d moved away to a table as quickly as possible.

But as the evening went on, he found himself looking at the bartender more often. Watching him. The way he moved when there was a rush of customers, swiftly and efficiently; turning to reach up to the optics; placing glasses on the bar top with a flourish. Leaning with effortless grace against the back counter when there was a slow stretch, sipping from a glass of water. Studying the people around him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

As the level of sake in his bottle went down, Zoro recognised that his interest in the bartender was overtaking his irritation. Notwithstanding the fact that the guy was obviously getting a boner over some of the women who queued up at the bar. This latter fact being frustrating as hell, the more so because at first Zoro had gotten a sense that occasionally, the blonde man might have been watching him back. But after seeing how the bartender’s face lit up when he talked with women customers, Zoro mentally checked the box marked _Straight/Unattainable_ and tried to stop looking at the way the man’s shoulders moved when he stretched to reach a bottle from a high shelf.

 

 

But then Sanji had intervened in the fight. And had come up to him on the street outside, and started bitching about Zoro having got him fired, before abruptly inviting him back to his apartment. At which point Zoro had decided to go along with wherever the hell this entirely surreal night was taking him. Because besides being as irritating as fuck and probably straight, Sanji had legs that went on forever and a smoky rough purr in his voice and a way of holding Zoro’s gaze with a challenging one of his own. It was fucked up and unplanned and all kinds of stupid, and he went with it anyway because he wanted to.

Which is how a little while later he wound up pinning the chef against his bedroom door and kissing him, tasting him, dragging one hand up the skin under his shirt.

It played out in his head now, like the fight in the club. Images, sensations. Sanji shoving him back against the bed. The two of them lying skin against skin, seeking out the places in each other that needed touch. The salt-sweet taste and hitch in the chef’s breath when Zoro ran his tongue across his hip.

The way it felt to be inside him.

 

 

A breath pulled into him. Zoro realised suddenly that his eyes were shut. And there was heat pooling in his groin, spilling up into the pit of his stomach.

This wasn’t just some casual fuck. It wasn’t just a diversion, a way out of feeling nothing or feeling too much, on that night in the year when his shadows caught up with him.

When he’d been sunk deep in Sanji and the chef’s voice had gone ragged as he came, Zoro had needed to capture his mouth, meet it, feel the vibration of that cry inside him.

 

 

He opened his eyes and looked at the floor. Slightly blurry from sleep deficit and slightly unsteady from his heartbeat shaking him from the inside. And one recurring thought, cutting through everything else.

_I want to feel that, again._

 

 

His gaze travelled sideways, to the digital clock on the nightstand. It was almost nine o’clock. Slowly he reached out and picked the clock up; set the alarm on it for six a.m.

_Got to get some sleep._

He stood up and headed for the bathroom. Sleepwalked his way through his ablutions, before returning to his room. Stripped off his shirt and started to unbuckle his belt before he remembered he still had to meditate.

Letting out a sigh, he moved to a clear space near one wall and settled down on the floor into seiza. Rested his hands palm down on his thighs and closed his eyes. Visualised a straight line running like a thread from the crown of his head down his spine. Tuned in to the sensation of his breath: the cool of breath coming in; holding it for a few seconds at his centre; slowly and gradually letting it release.

As it always did, the mokuso calmed him. He felt the tiredness, the questions, all the thoughts of the past twenty-four hours recede. For just a little while, he let them go.

 

 

Afterwards, when he finally climbed into bed and turned out the light, he felt sleep wash over him like a tide.

 

 

_Blue sea, wave curling over him, warm and heavy. Sliding into its comfortable embrace, down into its depths._

_The silk slide of hair under his fingertips. Blue eyes looking down into his. A body that fitted against his own._

 

 

He slept, deeper than the shadows could reach him.


	2. Partial Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami smiled again: a small smile, but a real one. “Okay.”
> 
> “Okay?” Sanji smiled too, partly to cover up the slight anxiety that had just arisen, at whatever it was Nami had seen in his face. “I take it that means I have your formal approval for this romantic venture.”
> 
> “Like I said, you seem happy. If this guy Zoro is part of the reason for that, I’m wildly in favour.”
> 
> “Thank you, my sweet.” Sanji gave a little bow of his head in acquiescence.
> 
> “But if he does anything to make you unhappy, gym instructor or not, I will disembowel him with my bare hands. You can mention that to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to readers for the long hiatus: I have been travelling in non-internet lands (and without a laptop), so this is the first opportunity I've had in 2 months to write and post chapter 2. It's longish, hope that makes up somewhat. The next installment won't be as tardy as this one, I promise. Thank you to everyone who's been reading, bookmarking, leaving comments and kudos: it really is massively appreciated. <3

* * *

 

 

Sanji opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, dim grey in the early morning light.

_Déjà vu._

He knew without looking at the clock that it was unholy early, again. That his body had summoned him to the surface, despite the fact that after the happenings of New Year’s Eve and the following day he could really use a remedial lie-in.

The bed felt warm and comforting, enfolding him. It wouldn’t actually take much for him to fall back asleep. Back into whatever dreams he’d come up from. His mind drifted, tracking backwards. To waking up the day before, alongside the solid warmth of Zoro’s body stretched out, beside his. And further back, to the night before that: skin on skin, moving in the lamplight.

 

 

Suddenly he was a lot more awake, blood starting to circulate more energetically to his brain. And to other regions.

Sanji opened his eyes. Then reluctantly made himself shove back the covers and stand up, heading for the shower.

 

 

By the time he’d gotten dressed, eaten breakfast and had his first smoke of the day, it was getting on for being a more civilised hour. About the sort of time when other people - people who had office jobs with nine-to-five office hours - would be heading out to work. Sanji sat on the couch with a mug of coffee and his second cigarette, and mentally gave thanks for the fact that however much temporary catering work sucked, at least he didn’t have to face the daily grind of a nine-to-five existence in some job that redefined tedium.

_All those office drones filing in to work, for another brain-numbing day of selling shit people don’t want, or scrolling through numbers on a screen. Thank fuck I’m not one of ‘em._

He let his head rest back against the couch and exhaled a stream of smoke up at the ceiling.

_Although... Unless I want to be doing crappy catering jobs for the foreseeable, there’s some serious spadework ahead if I want to make this idea of setting up my own business actually happen._

He wondered how he ought to start. Maybe by writing some ideas down, beginning to outline the shape of what he wanted to do. And by making a list of questions he needed to ask Nami when she came over at the end of the week, too. Like, how exactly you went about setting up a business. What happened with tax and stuff. Not to mention, where he would get the initial cash to get going... Start-up capital, or whatever the hell it was called.

_Why does everything need money to make it happen?_

Suddenly the whole prospect of going it alone seemed more daunting than it had the other night. It was great to talk about plans and dreams... But making them actually manifest was going to take more than hopeful intentions. Sanji frowned up at the ceiling, feeling doubt vying with his ambitions, trying to pull him back down into the grey inertia he’d been stuck in for so many months. He gave his head a slight shake, trying to dislodge the negative thoughts that were trying to gain the upper hand.

_Fuck it. I’m going to do this. And if I don’t have all the answers yet about how to make it happen, so what. Sometimes you’ve just got to make it the hell up as you go along._

It was a curiously heartening thought. Improvisation: seeing what presented itself, and then making use of whatever the universe delivered. It wasn’t as if it was a skill he was unfamiliar with, after all. A big part of being a chef was being creative with what you had. Turning unpromising ingredients into something good.

_Kind of like what happened the other night._

 

 

Sanji felt a smile come onto his face. Let himself remember just how much Zoro had irritated him initially, when they’d first spoken over the bar in the club. And how that had changed, within a few hours, to them sharing food and swapping stories. And then to them sharing a bed.

The physical memory travelled through his body again, like it had when he’d woken up. Sanji smiled wider; folded one arm behind his head and stretched his legs out. Images played through his mind, half-remembered glimpses. The shadowed hollow of Zoro’s collarbone. The curve of his neck, his head falling back against the bed. Skin dark against Sanji’s own, like tea and smoke and caramel. And the way Zoro had tasted: of whiskey and salt and something unknown, something strong and almost sharp. Like a flavour Sanji had yet to find a name for.

_Wonder if he’s doing this too. Sitting thinking about me._

 

 

With that thought, the shifting memories subsided a little. And Sanji blinked up at the ceiling, before pushing himself to sit upright on the couch.

_Get a grip._

He picked up his mug of coffee and swigged down the last mouthful, before looking around the room. Recalling what Zoro had said: that he would be busy at the gym, with the influx of New Year-motivated customers.

_What he’ll be doing is working. Which is what you ought to be doing, too._

His gaze fell onto his phone, lying on the table. Which brought the uncheering thought that he had to make that call to the agency, as soon as possible.

_Fuck. Well... No time like the present._

 

 

Once he’d brought up the agency’s number, he hesitated before hitting call. He found half a dozen possible scenarios running through his mind for how this conversation could go, none of them with particularly happy outcomes. It occurred to him that if Monica from Club Greedy was serious about following through on her threat to drop him in the shit with the agency, it would basically come down to his word against hers. And as she was the manager of a nightclub and he was a temporary catering worker with a sketchy employment record, it might be a foregone conclusion who was going to come out on top.

_Unless... I can sell it to them so they believe my version more than hers. Which means I’m going to have to be creative with the truth. So basically, put on a performance worthy of a murder suspect._

His thumb came down on the call symbol. He listened to the phone ring and sent up a small prayer to whatever deities watched over the successful delivery of half-truths.

 

 

Halfway through the fourth ring someone picked up, and a woman’s voice spoke. “Good morning, Diamond Hospitality Agency, Kim speaking. How may I help you today?”

The same woman who’d sent him on the New Year’s Eve job. Sanji hoped this was a good omen. “Hi, this is Sanji Black.” Sanji answered in clipped tones, aiming for somewhere between assertive and pissed off. “Could I speak with the agency’s manager?”

There was a half-second’s worried pause, before Kim spoke again. “I’m sorry, Mr Black, but our manager is currently in conference. Of course I can take your message and pass it on to him. May I ask why you’re calling?”

“I’m calling as a contracted employee of your agency, to make a serious complaint about a job that Diamond Hospitality sent me out to on New Year’s Eve.” Sanji put a frosty edge into his voice.

 

 

“I’m very sorry that you’ve had an unsatisfactory experience of our agency’s services.” Kim sounded concerned now. “If you’d like to tell me the details of your complaint, I’ll make every effort to resolve the issue for you.”

“It’s not your agency that created the issue.” Sanji made sure he softened his tone a little for this. “But unfortunately, I do have a complaint to make against the club that you placed me with on New Year’s Eve.”

“That would be...” The sounds of a keyboard being tapped were audible down the phone. “...Club Greedy? The bartending job?”

“Yes.” Sanji mentally prayed that he’d got the jump on Monica. “I take it that you haven’t been contacted by them.”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Kim sounded edgy, awaiting Sanji’s as-yet-unknown complaint.

 

 

 _Thank fuck._ “Then I’m sorry to have to tell you, there was an incident at the club, at the bar where I was working. A customer was attacked, by a group of men. It got pretty violent.”

“That sounds awful. I hope you weren’t injured?” Kim’s voice took on the apprehensiveness of someone who saw lawyers in the offing. Sanji let her hang for a moment in jeopardy, before answering.

“Fortunately, no: I wasn’t. But I did have to step in and intervene at one point to protect the customer who was being attacked, because the club’s so-called security didn’t show up quickly enough. Luckily I know a little self defence... I was able to stop one of the attackers who was about to smash a bottle over the customer’s head.” Sanji infused his narration with maximum drama. “Seriously: the guy could’ve been killed.”

“Oh my goodness.” Kim sounded suitably appalled. “That’s... What a terrible thing to happen. Was the customer okay?”

“He was a little beat up. But he would’ve been a lot worse if I hadn’t gotten involved. Which is why I was totally astonished at the way Club Greedy handled the whole incident. Instead of thanking me for protecting one of their customers from a violent drunk attacker, they told me I’d acted unprofessionally and asked me to leave. Which I did, not wanting to cause a scene - ” _Yeah, right._ “ – But I have to tell you, I’m seriously angry about how I was treated. All I did was try to help, in what was frankly a pretty chaotic situation. Not to mention I could’ve gotten hurt myself helping this customer – which Club Greedy didn’t seem remotely concerned about.”

“But you yourself weren’t injured?” Kim seemed keen to firmly establish some marginal positive from this tale of trauma.

“Fortunately not.” Sanji let a beat fall, before continuing sternly, “But that doesn’t alter the fact that Club Greedy were unreasonable in the way they treated me, that they fired me unfairly, and that they were negligent in the way they handled the whole incident. And if they want to debate that, I have a witness: the customer that I helped out can corroborate the whole thing.”

Sanji crossed his fingers as he stated this in confident tones, hoping that he’d never have to actually call on Zoro to back up his story. Not that Zoro would probably hesitate to give Club Greedy shit, but presenting him as a vulnerable victim needing Sanji’s protection was easier done in the abstract than in reality.

 

 

“Uh... It certainly sounds as though you were put in a very difficult position,” Kim acknowledged cautiously. “Of course, these were all circumstances beyond this agency’s control...”

 _Yeah, yeah. Here comes the damage limitation._ Sanji brought out the big guns. “I understand that. But as well as accusing me of unprofessionalism, it was intimated to me by Club Greedy’s manager that they would be making a complaint to your agency, that I handled this incident unprofessionally. If that was the case, I’d really have no option but to place this whole issue in the hands of my attorney.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mr Black.” Kim’s voice went up in speed and pitch. “As I said, our agency hasn’t been contacted yet by Club Greedy: and you’ve given us a very clear picture of the incident that occurred. I’m sure that we can resolve this issue without needing to resort to legal action.”

“I hope so.” Sanji tried to sound suitably ominous. “I’d rather not begin the new year by having to make a call to my attorney.” _Especially as he doesn’t fucking exist._

“I’m sure that absolutely no-one wants this to end up being resolved in a courtroom,” Kim soothed. “Please leave this with me, Mr Black. We’ll follow up on your complaint, and I will personally call you back before the end of business today. I can promise you that here at Diamond Hospitality Agency we do our utmost to uphold professional standards, and that includes valuing the safety and well-being of contracted staff such as yourself.”

 

_Wave the lawsuit wand and all manner of obstacles disappear. It’s like fucking magic._ Sanji worked hard at keeping the relief he was feeling out of his voice. “Well... Okay. I’ll wait to hear from you.” He let slight regret creep into his tone. “Up to this point I’ve enjoyed a productive working relationship with your agency. I’d prefer that continued, rather than have it end over one unfortunate incident.”

“Of course. Absolutely.” Kim sounded like she could see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. “I’ll take care of this. As I said, I’m sure that we can straighten out any miscommunication. And can I just assure you again, the safety and equitable treatment of our contracted staff is of paramount importance to us.”

“That’s reassuring to know. I hope to hear from you by the end of this afternoon.”

“Most definitely you will, Mr Black. Meantime, please don’t have any further concerns about this issue.”

 

 

After they exchanged goodbyes Sanji ended the call, before placing his phone on the table. He let himself lean back against the couch until his head rested against it. Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly.

_Machiavelli had nothing on you._

He wondered if he’d played it right. Lying to people, especially to women, didn’t sit comfortably with him. But if Diamond Hospitality took him off their books, getting another agency to employ him would likely be an uphill task. He had some qualms about what he’d just done... but would have done more if it had come to it. Because crappy as temporary catering work was, it was his only source of income till he was able to conjure up something better. And _conjure_ being the operative word: starting up as self employed was going to require something close to magic. And a fundamental component of that magic was going to be money, which he would need to earn enough of to provide some kind of short-term security blanket if he was going to take the leap into working solo. So whatever kept him on Diamond Hospitality Agency’s books in the here and now fell under the heading of _needs must_.

There was no telling when the agency would call him back. Until they did, everything hung in the balance. Sanji decided resolutely to put it out of his head. He collected up his empty coffee mug and washed it along with his breakfast things, before straightening up the kitchen. Then he returned to the lounge, switched on his laptop and began trawling the internet for information on how to go about setting up your own business.

 

 

 

 

By mid-afternoon the table and floor were partly obscured by several sheets of paper covered with notes, brainstormed ideas and an ever-growing list of questions to ask Nami. Sanji was sitting cross-legged on the floor frowning over a particularly impenetrable explanation of different federal, state and local business licenses and zoning permits when his phone rang.

It took him a few seconds to locate it, buried under a pile of paper: when he did, he saw Diamond Hospitality Agency’s number on the incoming call screen. He took the call, frowning. “Hello?”

“Mr Black?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Kim, at Diamond Hospitality Agency.”

“Right.” Sanji found himself chewing at his lower lip.

“I’m happy to be able to tell you that we’ve now spoken to Club Greedy management, and the matter we discussed this morning has been resolved.”

 

_Fucking yeah!_

Sanji resisted the impulse to punch the air, but let his head fall back against the couch with a smile of relief. Grinning up at the ceiling but keeping his voice matter-of-fact, he replied, “That’s good to hear.”

“As far as our agency is concerned, we have no issues with the way you handled the situation. I’m afraid that we were only able to negotiate you being paid for the actual hours you worked, rather than your full shift: Club Greedy weren’t prepared to be flexible about that. But you will be paid for those hours.”

“Okay. I’m prepared to accept that.” Sanji let himself sound magnanimous.

“There was some discussion about the actual incident, but we made the case on your behalf that you were wrongfully dismissed. While no admittance of liability was made by Club Greedy at any point, they did eventually accept that their actions may have been somewhat over-zealous.” There was an edge of satisfaction in Kim’s tones: Sanji wondered if Diamond Hospitality had made a pre-emptive strike in the form of using their own legal team. “So the whole matter is now closed, as far as we’re concerned.”

“Thank you, Kim.” Sanji let his smile show in his voice this time. “I appreciate you sorting this out.”

“No problem. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

 _Let’s make the most of this situation._ “Well, I’m available for work as of tomorrow. So if anything suitable comes in...”

“I think there may have been something put on our system this afternoon. If you hold the line I’ll check for you.” There was a brief pause, before Kim’s voice came back on the line. “Mr Black? I was right. There’s a swing cook opportunity at the Fairmont Hotel, covering breakfast and lunchtime service Tuesday to Saturday. Hours five a.m. till three p.m.”

Sanji considered this for a moment. Swing cook meant potentially covering every station in a kitchen, which required good knowledge of a wide range of skills. Not to mention the ability to work your ass off. But he was hardly in a position to be choosy right now. And major plus, it meant getting to do some actual cooking. “I’ll take it.”

A few more exchanges on the phone got him the job details, hotel address and a promise from Kim to email confirmation as soon as she hung up. When Sanji finally ended the call and leaned back against the couch he felt as though a weight had rolled off his shoulders.

 

 

 

 

 

He started the temping job at the Fairmont Hotel the next day. It proved to be as demanding in terms of workload as he’d expected, but well within his chef skills. The hotel was the higher end of traditional, catering mostly to business travellers, tourists and older couples on romantic breaks: consequently the clientele wasn’t looking for anything too novel in the dining room bill of fare. The swing cook position Sanji was filling had come free because its previous incumbent had tripped going down the stairs to the storeroom and broken his ankle: minimum three months’ recovery, which suited Sanji just fine.

The other chefs and kitchen staff were the usual mix of characters; some friendly, some uncommunicative, some eccentric. The sous chef, Martine, was a feisty woman with cropped dark hair who delivered commands or criticism with equal fluency. She was very good at doing what a sous chef had to, keeping the chaos of a busy kitchen functioning at top efficiency while acting as a medium between the lowly rabble of kitchen staff and the ultimate and unpredictable god of the head chef.

After four days working at the hotel Sanji felt more or less settled in. He’d got onto casual conversation terms with some of the other chefs and kitchen staff, especially the ones who like him took their smoke breaks out the back of the hotel in a grimy alley with overflowing dumpsters. The view wasn’t inspiring but it was cooler than the kitchen and hotel security turned a blind eye to the fact that chefs and porters were using an undesignated smoking area for their regular nicotine fix.

 

 

“Ey, Sanji!” As he stepped out into the alley, a man leaning propped against the opposite wall lifted a hand in greeting.

“Hey, Carlos.” Sanji nodded at him.

“You on a break?”

“Ten minutes.” Sanji reached under his kitchen whites and took out his cigarettes, sparking one up. He offered the packet to the other man.

“Nah. S’cool.” Carlos gestured with the end of a cigarillo he was holding between two fingers. “I finish this, then I better get back in there ‘fore that witch Martine gets on my case.”

Sanji blew out a stream of smoke. “She’s not so bad.”

“She’s a ball-buster.” Carlos pulled a face. “Maybe not so bad if you’re a chef, but the rest of us kitchen workers get run ragged.”

“If you can’t stand the heat...” Sanji smiled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Carlos whistled through his teeth. “I give it another couple months, then maybe I’ll look for something ain’t so crazed. I figured working in a kitchen would be an okay job, maybe get some good free meals on the side. Didn’t realise how loco all you chef types were.”

Sanji bared his teeth in a grin. “That’s us all right. Muy loco.”

 

 

Carlos grinned back. “How come you like it?”

“Never knew anything else.” Sanji flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. “I was working in my old man’s kitchen from when I was a brat. And compared to working under him, this place is a walk in the park.”

“So this what you always wanted to be? A chef?”

“Yeah. A top chef.” Sanji looked at him. “How about you? Doesn’t sound like working here is suiting you too well.”

“It’s money in the pocket.” Carlos sounded resigned. “And I get evenings free. Means I can take some classes after I finish work.”

“That’s cool. What are you studying?”

“Computer science.”

Sanji whistled quietly. “Kudos. I wouldn’t know where to start with that kind of info tech stuff.”

“I figured there’s plenty of work out there in computers. That’s why I picked it. Now I’ve been studying it a few months, turns out I’m good at it.” Carlos smiled around his cigarillo. “So I won’t be stuck washing dishes forever.”

 

 

A vibration in Sanji’s pocket signalled a text landing on his phone. Parking his cigarette in his mouth, he reached inside his whites and brought the phone out. Carlos nodded at it. “That Martine see you with your phone in the kitchen, she kick your ass.”

“That’s why I keep it on silent.” Sanji angled the phone so he could see the screen: a text from an unknown number. He frowned. “Mehh... Just some call centre trying to sell me insurance, looks like.” He swiped one finger across the screen, bringing the message up.

_‘Finally got a new phone. You still up for sparring? Z’_

 

 

Sanji blinked at the screen. Felt his heart rev up a little. After a moment’s pause, he rapidly typed a reply. _‘Yeah sure I’m still up for it. When were you thinking?’_

Barely quarter of a minute elapsed before Zoro’s second text landed. _‘Can get a space here at the gym 6:30 Sunday eve. Work for you?’_

Sanji smiled, his finger skating over his phone. _‘OK for me. Winner chooses dinner, right?’_

The other man’s reply landed promptly. _‘Sure you trust me to pick where to eat, cook?’_

 _‘As if.’_ Sanji’s smile turned wry. _‘Meet you 6:30 at the gym Sunday.’_

_‘Looking forward to it. Later.’_

 

 

Sanji saved Zoro’s number into his contacts, adding the soubriquet _Moss Head_ under Zoro’s name with a slightly vengeful smile. He was still smiling as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Hot date?” Carlos had been watching him.

Sanji looked up. “Mm?” His smile grew a little. “Yeah.... Hopefully.”

Carlos smiled too. “You taking them some place nice?”

“That kind of depends.” Sanji took one last pull on his cigarette before dropping it onto the ground and grinding it out with the sole of his shoe. “But if I have anything to do with it: yeah.”

 

 

 

 

When his working day ended Sanji changed out of his whites and back into his own clothes, before heading out into the street. It had been a demanding shift, the hotel starting to get busy for the weekend. On his way home he had food shopping to do, buying ingredients for the meal he was planning to cook for Nami that evening. Normally he would’ve have enjoyed lingering over market stalls, but that afternoon he was tired enough that he just wanted to get home.

Once back in his apartment he took a shower and straightened up his living room – various pieces of paper lay scattered about from the brainstorming he’d been doing all week about his business plans - before making a start on preparing dinner. Dessert was already taken care of, as he’d made the tiramisu the day before. For the main course he’d decided on spaghetti arrabiata with prawns, plus a green salad. Like him Nami liked seafood and spicy flavours; and she enjoyed her food, which always made her an appreciative audience to cook for.

As preparation got under way Sanji tasted and adjusted seasoning, put the bottle of Frascati he’d bought on the way home to chill in the refrigerator, and checked while he was in there that the tiramisu looked suitably tempting. He had a little cocoa powder to dust its top just before serving it up.

 

It was just coming up to seven o’clock and he was carefully folding shut baking parchment around the parcels of spaghetti arrabiata so that they could go into the oven, when his apartment intercom buzzer sounded. Wiping his hands, Sanji went to his intercom. “That you, Nami?”

“Standing salivating on the sidewalk. Let me in, it’s freezing down here.”

Sanji hit the button that unlocked the communal entrance on the apartment block’s ground floor. “Come on up, my sweet. Warmth and culinary cosseting await you.”

“That is the best news I’ve had all day.”

 

 

After a short pause, the buzz of Sanji’s apartment doorbell signalled his friend’s arrival. Sanji went to the door and opened it wide, admitting Nami muffled up in a thick coat, woollen hat, scarf and gloves. “Rrrhhh... It must be going to freeze tonight. That wind is straight off the Arctic.”

“And a good evening to you, bella signora.” Sanji shut the door and held out both hands. “Benvenuto a mio modesto restorante. May I take your coat?”

“Grazie.” Nami graciously shrugged it off, with a smile.

“Prego.” Sanji hung it on one of the coat hooks behind the door. Nami unwound her scarf and pulled off her gloves and hat, before ruffling one hand through her flame-orange hair. “I hate the winter. Now I’ve got hat hair.”

“Bellissima.” Sanji made a sweeping gesture. “You look gorgeous, as ever.”

Nami gave her fringe one last impatient sweep, before turning so the two of them could meet in a close hug. “Mmmm... It’s so good to see you.” Pulling back a little, she looked him up and down. “You look tired. Have you been working a lot of hours?”

“I’ve just got a new temping job. Chefing this time, in a hotel. And the hours aren’t so bad... But it’s early starts, and I’m working in a busy kitchen.” Sanji led the way into the apartment. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll bring you a glass of wine.”

 

 

When he returned from the kitchen, Nami took the glass of Frascati from him with a long sigh. “Thanks, hon. Oh... I am _so_ glad it’s the end of the week.”

“For some of us it isn’t.” Sanji perched on the end of the couch, taking a sip from his own glass of wine.

“You’re working weekends too?” Nami regarded him sternly.

“Just Saturdays. I get Sundays and Mondays off. And it’s only breakfast and lunch service, so at least I’m not working evenings.”

“Good.” Nami tried a mouthful of wine, nodded approvingly, and set her glass down on the table. “I can’t believe the stupid hours you have to work sometimes.”

“Comes with the territory.” Sanji smiled: this was old ground.

“It’s still stupid.” Nami rolled her eyes. “I mean, you were even working New Year’s Eve. What was _that_ all about?”

“Keeping a roof over my head. And being able to wine and dine my friends in the manner to which they’ve grown accustomed.”

“Oh well, in that case I approve.” Nami grinned. “Especially if you’ve kept your promise...”

“Tiramisu awaits,” Sanji affirmed solemnly.

Nami slid back against the couch, clasping both hands across her heart. “Bliss.”

“But I give you fair warning: I’m expecting you to earn your keep. I have a bunch of stuff I need to ask you about.”

“All will be attended to. After supper.” Nami made a dismissive gesture.

 

 

 

 

The spaghetti arrabiata met with Nami’s approval: as they ate sitting on the floor around the low table, their end-of-week fatigue lifted. Soon both were laughing as Nami related her New Year’s Eve adventures. “...And the best bit was, he thought he could beat me in a drinking contest. What a dork.”

Sanji chuckled. “I take it he found out otherwise.”

“Yeah. But not before I got him to bet a hundred dollars on the outcome.” Nami smirked. “Luckily I got him to put down his money up front. An hour later he slides under the table. And I’m a hundred bucks up. Not to mention, rid of his oh-so-annoying company.”

“Why’d you even dance with him in the first place?”

“Because he had a cute ass.” Nami shrugged.

“You have terrible instincts for choosing men.”

“Is it my fault that there are so many losers out there? And that they find me irresistible?”

“Also, you might want to work on your self esteem.”

Nami snorted. “Yeah, because that’s _totally_ what guys look for in a girl.”

“Don’t tar us all with the same brush, my sweet.” Sanji folded his arms on the table. “We’re not all driven solely by testosterone.”

“Right. As well as sex and competitiveness, some guys are also really into cars,” Nami responded with due solemnity.

“This much cynicism is unhealthy in one of your tender years,” Sanji remarked, standing up and gathering their empty plates.

“It’s not the years that matter. It’s the mileage.” Nami rested both elbows on the table and propped her chin in her cupped hands. “I have zero illusions about men. Which doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy a cute ass when I see one.”

 

 

Sanji took the plates into the kitchen, returning with the tiramisu, its creamy top now dusted with elegant spirals of powdered cocoa. When he set it down on the table Nami sat up straight, a beatific smile coming onto her face. “Of course, there are a few men who are exceptions to the rule.” She turned her smile onto him. “Make me the happiest woman on earth. Marry me and cook for me forever.”

Sanji sat down on the floor again, also smiling. “It’s a deal. As long as we can get hitched in the Chapel of Elvis in Vegas.”

“Elvis? Really?” Nami raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a thing. I always wanted to hear those words: ‘I now pronounce you Bubba and Bubbette.’ ”

“Ugh. On second thought, the wedding’s off.” Nami looked back at the tiramisu, and picked up her dessert spoon. “Mmm... Fabulous. What are you having?”

Sanji let out a snort of laughter. “If you think you can eat all of that in one sitting, you have my blessings.”

Nami extended her spoon towards the dish, a determined look in her eye. “Want to bet a hundred bucks on it?”

 

 

A short while later, two empty dessert bowls and spoons stood on the table, next to an almost-empty dish that had contained the tiramisu. Sanji sat on the floor with his back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him: Nami leaned her head on his shoulder, her eyes shut. Sanji let his gaze travel to the bright hair; to her serene face. “You falling asleep?”

“Just enjoying the moment.”

Sanji ran one finger through her hair where it spread across his shoulder, stroking the flame-coloured strands. “There’s still some tiramisu left.”

Nami groaned slightly. “Don’t.”

“Just a few spoonfuls.”

Nami groaned louder. “Is it possible to die of eating too much?”

“Yes, but usually it takes a few years to kick in. Obesity is a national epidemic,” intoned Sanji solemnly.

Nami opened her eyes. “And you’re a chef. That makes you an accessory. Like, a pusher or something.”

“Guilty as charged. Possession of dairy products with intent to supply.”

“Make the tiramisu go away. If I see it again, I’ll cry.”

“You’ll have to move off my shoulder first,” Sanji commented.

 

 

With another long drawn-out groan, Nami shifted to the side and sat up straighter, leaning back against the couch next to him. “Oughh... There ought to be some kind of law restricting the availability of Italian food. It has no business tasting as good as it does.”

Sanji got up, collecting their bowls and the remains of the tiramisu from the table. “You want coffee?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll need radical surgery even to finish my glass of wine.”

“Later, then.” Sanji took the dishes through to the kitchen. Returning to the lounge he collected his cigarettes from the desk and came to sit back on the floor. Letting out a relaxed sigh, he took out a cigarette. “Will it add to your woes if I smoke?”

“Of course not.”

“Great.” Sanji lit up; inhaled deeply; then released a long smoky breath. “Ah... That’s better. It was so crazy at work today, I got one ten-minute break in the whole of my shift. By the middle of the afternoon I was so desperate I was inhaling the grill fumes.”

“One break in your entire shift? That sounds illegal.”

“I’ll raise it with my union rep.” Sanji grinned sardonically around his cigarette.

“Just because you’re temporary staff doesn’t mean you don’t have any employment rights.”

“Employment rights are something professional kitchens have yet to enthusiastically embrace,” Sanji replied.

“Well, don’t let them push you around.” Nami’s voice was stern.

“I’m not.” Sanji smiled sideways at her. “Really. It’s not such a bad gig. I’ve worked in kitchens a lot higher pressure than this one. Being a swing cook means you’re playing catch-up the whole time, but at least you’re getting to man lots of different stations. I’d rather be working up a sweat than bored.”

 

 

Nami regarded him steadily for a moment, then smiled too. “Then that’s okay.” She picked up her wine glass. “Crazy busy shift or not, it seems to be suiting you. You look happier than I’ve seen you in months.”

Sanji gave a slight shrug. “I’m doing what I love to do. I’m cooking.”

“You’re also studiously avoiding telling me anything whatsoever about what you did on _your_ New Year’s Eve.” Nami looked at him over the top of her wine glass, with a wicked smile. “Which makes me think it must be worth hearing about.”

Sanji felt just the slightest flush come to his face. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Nami set her glass down on the table and smirked at him. “I saw his photo, remember?”

 

 

 _Oh yeah..._ Sending Nami that picture he’d taken by stealth of Zoro had slipped Sanji’s memory. He half-regretted it now. “Mhmm.”

“So, I want to hear all about it. Every juicy detail. And if you’ve got more pictures...”

“I haven’t. He didn’t even know I was taking that one.”

“Oh?” Nami looked at him. “He the shy type?”

“Not exactly.” Sanji was uncomfortably aware that he had no idea if that was true. Or what Zoro’s type was.

“But, green hair?” Nami pulled a slight face. “What’s _that_ all about? Is that some kind of emo scenester thing?”

“No, it’s...” Sanji found himself remembering how Zoro had told him about Kuina persuading him to dye his hair. And all the other things Zoro had told him about his friend; about how she had died. None of which he was in a position to share with Nami. He fell back on a partial truth. “He said he liked the way it made people react.”

 

 

Nami raised an eyebrow. “What, he likes provoking people?”

 _Yes._ “No.” Sanji shook his head. “Just, y’know: something a bit different.”

“Is that what made you notice him? The hair?” Nami picked up her wine again: took a sip.

“No. He came up to the bar where I was working, to get drinks. We talked, a little.” _Exchanged insults._

“Who hit on who first?”

Sanji released a mouthful of smoke. “I asked him back to my place.”

“Good work.” Nami grinned approvingly. “Well, he’s obviously not a total idiot, if he said yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Although you are a total idiot, for getting fired. _Again_.” She punched him on the arm, hard enough to hurt. “What did you do this time?”

“The same as last time. And, by the way, _ow_.” Sanji rubbed his arm, wincing.

“And by that you mean...”

“The old hitting the customers routine. It’s unoriginal I know, but I never tire of it.”

Nami stared at him. “You hit someone again?”

“Several someones. Note the plural.”

 

 

A small frown pulled in between Nami’s eyebrows. “Oh shit... _Why_ , Sanji?”

“It’s a complicated story.”

“Give me the simplified version.”

“A bunch of drunks started a fight at the bar.”

“Couldn’t you have just let them get on with it?”

“One of the drunks picked up a bottle and was about to attempt an amateur lobotomy on this guy from behind, so I decided in the interests of fairness to get involved.”

“I hope the guy you helped, whoever he was, was suitably grateful.”

“Well, he did come back to my place with me afterwards.”

 

 

Nami’s jaw dropped. “No way... You’re telling me that was the guy you invited back _here?”_

“Mm-hmm.” Sanji tried to sound casual about it.

“Does he make a habit of starting bar fights?”

“He didn’t start this one. It was the drunk assholes who kicked it off.”

Nami regarded him levelly for several seconds. Then in an unamused voice she said, “So you decided to join in.”

“It was either that or watch him get his skull caved in with a bottle.” Sanji flicked ash from his cigarette. “I was feeling chivalrous.”

“Are you trying to get a resumé that reads like a rap sheet?” Nami’s voice got louder. “If you want to ever cook again for a decent restaurant, you can’t keep doing this, Sanji.”

“Point taken. Can we move on?”

 

 

There was a brief silence, as Nami glowered at him. At last she swallowed the last of her wine, before plonking her empty glass back on the table. “You are such an idiot.”

“No harm, no foul. I’ve squared it with the agency, spun them a good story, which they bought. All’s well that ends well.”

Nami regarded him. “This time it ended well. That doesn’t mean making a habit of it is a great idea.”

“I don’t plan to. This was a one-time deal, special circumstances. No more fighting customers, I promise.” Sanji gave her his best charming smile.

 

 

“I hope the guy appreciated it.” Nami was still frowning. “So what’s his name?”

“His name’s Zoro.” Sanji let the question of Zoro’s gratitude fall unanswered.

“ _Zorro?”_ The corner of Nami’s mouth quirked up. “So that explains the bar fight. He was probably aiding the oppressed and avenging the downtrodden. Was he wearing a black mask and cape when you met him?”

“No. And it’s spelled differently: one R, not two.”

“Well, that makes all the difference.” Nami rolled her eyes. “Is that deliberate, or is he just dyslexic?”

“You actually want to hear about him, or just badmouth my taste in men?”

 

 

Nami composed herself, folding her hands primly on her lap and assuming an expression of smiling attentiveness. “I’m all ears. What does he do for a living, when he’s not fighting in bars?”

“He’s a personal trainer at a gym.”

“Score points for good physique.” Nami nodded approvingly. “How long’s he lived here?”

“Six months.”

“Has he got his own apartment?”

“No, he shares one with a friend.”

“Meaning, friend-with-benefits, or an actual friend?”

“Just a friend.” Sanji shook his head.

“So you asked him back here, and he said yes. Then what happened?”

Sanji smiled. “We came back here and I cooked us both some dinner.”

“You cooked for him? On the first date?” Nami wagged a finger at him. “You shameless slut.”

“I was hungry.” Sanji said this mildly.

“So you seduced him with your cooking, and then afterwards you ravished him all night long? I’m hoping is where this is going.”

“Afterwards we talked for a while.”

“And _then_ you ravished him. Or he ravished you. Or mutual ravishment, whatever. Get to the particulars.”

 

 

“A gentleman does not kiss and tell.” Sanji shook his head.

“A gentleman doesn’t join in with bar fights either, but that didn’t stop you.” Nami rested both elbows on the table and propped her chin in her hands, grinning at him. “Don’t worry about offending my delicate sensibilities, I don’t have any. Did you totally boff each other’s brains out?”

Sanji let his eyebrows hike up. “Okay, now _my_ delicate sensibilities are offended.”

“If he works at a gym, he must have some _serious_ stamina.”

“I’m never making you tiramisu again.”

Nami immediately assumed a demure expression. “Of course, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

 

 

Sanji gave her a long look, but Nami’s face stayed meek. Stubbing out the end of his cigarette in the ashtray, he gave a half-shake of his head. “As it happens... I’d rather not be cross-examined about this, so yes: let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay.” Nami gave him an impish smile. “Provided I can ask one more question.”

Sanji let out a long-suffering sigh. “Go on.”

“Are you seeing him again?”

It wasn’t the question he’d expected, somehow. “Yes.”

Nami’s gaze rested on him, her brown eyes assessing something in his face. “Then you like him.”

Sanji blinked. “I... Yeah. I do.”

 

 

There was a moment of quiet. Then Nami smiled again: a small smile, but a real one. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sanji smiled too, partly to cover up the slight anxiety that had just arisen, at whatever it was Nami had seen in his face. “I take it that means I have your formal approval for this romantic venture.”

“Like I said, you seem happy. If this guy Zoro is part of the reason for that, I’m wildly in favour.”

“Thank you, my sweet.” Sanji gave a little bow of his head in acquiescence.

“But if he does anything to make you _un_ happy, gym instructor or not, I will disembowel him with my bare hands. You can mention that to him.”

Sanji grimaced slightly. “Can I wait until after our second date, at least?”

“No, make sure he knows that from the get-go.” Nami shook her head. “I want the disembowelling agenda to be clearly understood. It’s important to establish boundaries early on.”

“Right...” Sanji reached for his cigarettes again. “Whatever you say, my little dove of peace.”

 

 

After a brief pause, Nami gave a businesslike nod. “Good. That’s settled. We can move on now.”

Sanji lit up another smoke, and offered up silent thanks for the possibility of a change in topic. “You sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Maybe in a while. I’m more interested in finding out just exactly what it is you want my help with. As you evidently don’t want it where your love life is concerned.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to share, my lovely. It’s just...” Sanji gestured vaguely with his cigarette. “It’s all a bit novel even to me, right now. I need some time to get used to the idea.”

“I get it.” Nami let out a small sigh. “I’ll await further updates. Which better be soon. When are you seeing him again?”

“Sunday evening. We’re going to do some sparring at the gym where he works... Then go for dinner somewhere.”

“Sparring?” Nami wrinkled her nose. “Are you _sure_ he didn’t start that fight?”

“Yes!”

“Because I’d hate to see you get involved with someone who looks like trouble. You deserve better than that, Sanji.” Nami’s eyes were serious.

“He isn’t like that.” Even as he said this, Sanji saw in his mind that long scar, running from shoulder to hip. _Fuck that. We’ve all got scars, whether or not they’re visible._ “But I appreciate you thinking that about me.”

Nami shrugged. “It’s the truth, dummy. You deserve someone good. You deserve to be happy.”

“Well, right now... I am.”

“Will you call me next week, and tell me how it goes?”

“I’ll keep you posted.” Sanji gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, my dearling. You will always be the queen of my heart, and privy to its innermost workings.”

“Good.” Nami nodded, apparently satisfied.

 

 

There were a few moments of quiet... Then Nami stretched slightly, rolling her shoulders. “Oof... I think my metabolism has just about managed to assimilate the tiramisu, I can breathe without actual pain. You want to tell me exactly what you need me to do to earn my supper? And I’m warning you now, it better not involve lewd and immoral acts.”

“Gorgeous though you are, it’s your beautiful mind I want to shamelessly exploit.” Sanji got up and went to his desk, before returning with his stack of paperwork and notes. “I need some help, and you strike me as being the go-to person for advice with all of this.”

“Intriguing, but not actually illuminating.” Nami looked at the paperwork. “ ‘This’ being what, exactly? Are you writing a cookbook or something?”

“God forbid. No: I’m thinking I want to try setting up my own business, cooking. Not a restaurant; I don’t have the experience or cash to do that, yet. Just a one-man operation, either some kind of street food outlet, or catering, or maybe both. But I’ve been thinking about it and researching it all week, and I have a bunch of questions which I’m not sure where to find the answers to... And I thought as you’ve done all this already, when you set up on your own... maybe you would be able to help me with some of it. That is, is if you don’t mind me asking you.”

 

 

There was a brief silence: Sanji waited uncertainly, while Nami studied him. Then her face broke into a grin. “Do I mind you asking me for help? Are you kidding?” She laughed, then her face took on a mock-serious expression. “What hourly rates are we talking, for my professional advice?”

“Uhm...” Sanji looked down at his paperwork. “Okay, I tried putting together a cashflow forecast, kind of... And I did try to factor in things like paying an accountant or whatever, so I guess if you took a look at my figures - ”

“Don’t be a total dork,” Nami cut him off. “Like I’m actually going to charge you money for helping you. Geez, Sanji, buy a clue.”

“No, seriously – I want to do this properly.” Sanji looked at her. “It’s not just getting some advice from you tonight... I’m going to need help with a ton of stuff: putting together a business plan, applying for licences, figuring out likely turnover, how to do the marketing, tax... There’s a crapload that I haven’t got a clue how to tackle. And no way do I expect you to do that for nothing... And that’s even assuming that you really do want to help me with all of this stuff.”

 

 

Nami sat up straight, and ticked numbers off on her fingers. “Okay, point one: of course I want to help you with this, that’s a given. Point two, until you have an idea of how your cashflow is going to work in the early stages, you shouldn’t be paying out money for anything unless it’s essential expenditure. Point three, I am not a qualified accountant or business advisor or anything like that, so any help you get from me will be on a strictly amateur and unpaid basis. Point four, if and when your business becomes so amazingly successful that you’re wallowing in ill-gotten gains and the Sanji catering brand has become a highly successful franchise, I reserve the right to revisit point three. Any questions?”

Sanji opened his mouth. Shut it again. Shook his head. Nami smiled, satisfied. “All right. Then tell me all about this idea of yours.”

 

 

 

 

Two hours, several coffees and many pages of scribbled notes later, Sanji rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and sat back on the couch. “Ughhh... That’s it, my brain can’t take any more. Even with the support of caffeine.” He blinked at his notes, then shook his head. “Plus, I’m starting not to be able to read my own handwriting. And I have to be at work in six hours’ time. We better call it a night.”

Nami yawned. “Right... We’ve covered a lot of things, anyway. With the stuff we’ve looked at, you should have an idea of what tasks you need to tackle first.”

Sanji ran his eyes down a to-do list that seemed to fill an entire sheet of paper. “Um, yeah.” He placed it on the table, with a long out-breath. “Suddenly I’m wondering whether this is all just a totally crazy idea.”

“Don’t you dare have second thoughts!” Nami leaned over and poked him in the ribs. “You running your own cooking business would be the bomb, Sanji. You have to do this. And I’ll help you with all this stuff.”

“My sweet, you have your own business to run. This is my insane plan: if I’m going to do it, then I need to be the one doing it. If it was just the cooking, I wouldn’t be worrying. But now having really started to look at what I’ve got to tackle... I’m not sure that I can actually pull this off.”

“Of course you can,” scoffed Nami. “If starting up and running your own business was difficult, I wouldn’t be able to do it. Nor would any of the other slackers out there who’ve done it. Once you get the hang of the paperwork, it’s a breeze. I can show you some software that’ll make doing your accounts and tax easier; and as for marketing you don’t need any I.T. know-how to set up your own website these days, there’s a ton of content-managed site templates you can download and set up yourself. Once you’ve done that I can show you how to boost your SEO – you could set up your own vid channel and upload clips of yourself giving cooking demos, that would work – and then we can look at widgets that’ll bring in revenue, because your site should at the very least pay for itself.”

 

 

Sanji rested his forehead on his hand, threading his fingers into his hair, and looked at her apologetically. “I’m sure that everything you said makes perfect sense, but unfortunately for me you may as well have been speaking in tongues. Break me in gently, my little web navigating genius. If it doesn’t involve food and culinary arts, my learning curve is going to be steep.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll steer you round the curves.” Nami gave him an indulgent smile. “And it’s the food and culinary arts that are going to be the important part of this. Get people tasting your cooking, and you’ll have no problems making this work.”

“Right now it feels like reaching that point is a very long way off.” Sanji tried to smile back at her, but his eyes fell again on the daunting list of tasks. “Miles to go before I sleep.”

“But you have promises to keep.” Nami reached out and took hold of one of his hands: squeezed it. “Don’t think for one second that now you’ve told me about this, I’m going to let you lose momentum on it. Just tackle one thing at a time. Once that thing’s done, tackle the next. You can do this, Sanji.”

“You really think so?”

“I really do.” She curled in against his side, keeping hold of his hand. “You are an amazing chef and it’s time more people got to find that out. Not to mention, you are a wonderful person who deserves great things to happen.”

“You’re biased.”

“Damn straight.” Her fingers interlinked with his, her thumb stroking the back of his hand. “You really want to do this, I can tell. So go for it.” Sanji smiled, letting out a soft laugh. Nami twisted her head to look into his face. “What’s so funny?”

Sanji gave a half-shake of his head, still smiling. “Not funny, really. Just, coincidental. That’s pretty much what Zoro said, about my doing this.”

 

 

The tiniest frown drew Nami’s brows together. “You talked with him about this?”

“Well, yeah... It came up in conversation.” Sanji shrugged. “We were talking about work, stuff like that.”

“He must be quite the motivational speaker.” Nami twisted a strand of her hair between thumb and fingertip, her gaze shifting to rest on the pile of paperwork they had generated between them.

Sanji raised his eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

Nami lifted her gaze back to him. “Because I’ve been telling you that you could do better than working at those lousy dead-end catering jobs, for the past six months. With zero effect. But this guy Zoro shows up out of the blue and tells you the same thing, and all of a sudden you’re talking about setting up your own business.” She shrugged.

 

 

Sanji looked at her, carefully. “What you’ve been saying to me didn’t have zero effect. This idea, this thing I’m talking about doing now – it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. It just... seemed too ambitious. The whole idea of setting up my own business. I mean, totally out of my reach, financially, whatever.”

“So what’s changed?” Nami spoke quietly, holding his gaze.

“I don’t know. Me, maybe.” Sanji let out a sigh. “You’re right, my sweet. Over the last six months I don’t remember working at one single thing that I felt good about. And I’m not sure exactly why the sudden urge to abandon the depths of slackerdom, but one thing I do know: I am sick of waking up each morning and struggling to think of reasons to get out of bed. Maybe it’s because it’s a new year, new start, all that crap. Maybe I’ve just spent long enough sitting on my ass. Whatever the reason, I want to do something different. I want to start enjoying life again, instead of slogging through it.”

 

 

A small smile curved across Nami’s lips. “Well, that’s progress.” Her smile deepened into a slightly wicked one. “Although I suspect that maybe motivational speaking skills weren’t the main reason this guy Zoro made such an impression on you.”

Sanji felt the blood rise under his skin, his face growing warm. “And to that, I say: wow, look at the time. It’s really late, we should definitely call it a night.”

Nami laughed. “And that blush, my friend, is what we call corroborative evidence.” She gave his hand a squeeze, before letting it go.

 

 

 

 

They said their goodbyes at the door of Sanji’s apartment, once Nami had called a cab. Sanji watched her tug her hat firmly down over her fiery hair and pull on her gloves, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “Sure you don’t want me to walk you downstairs, see you to your cab?”

“You’re not a hotel doorman. And the day I need a guy to accompany me anywhere, you can put me out to grass.” Nami fastened the collar of her coat. “The whole helpless female gig is really not my thing. As you ought to know by now.”

“I know.” Sanji smiled mollifyingly at her. “And that won’t stop me offering my services as gentleman. You ought to know that, too.”

Nami leaned towards him and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re one of the very few humans with a Y chromosome walking on this planet who gives me hope, sweetie. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Sanji kissed her cheek in return. “For the help you’ve given me tonight, the gratitude is all mine. Text me when you get home so I know you’re there safe.”

Nami rolled her eyes slightly at this piece of mothering, but nodded in acquiescence. “All right. And you get some sleep, if you’re doing another crazy ten hour shift tomorrow.”

Sanji placed one hand on his heart. “You have my word. As soon as I get your text I will close my eyes and fall into sweet dreams, happy in the knowledge that my angel is safely back home.”

Nami gave a shake of her head. “Angel, my ass. Fallen angel, maybe.” Turning away, she headed down the passage towards the stairs, giving him a farewell wave over her shoulder as she went. “Remember: call me in the week. I want a detailed report. And don’t forget to tell him about the whole disembowelling thing.”

Sanji waved in return. “Your cab meter is running.”

Nami let out a snort that conveyed her views on cabs, making Sanji feel briefly sympathetic for whatever unsuspecting cab driver was waiting for her down in the street. The door to the apartment block stairwell squeaked as Nami opened it, then she was gone.

 

 

Returning inside his apartment, Sanji picked up the pages of his scribbled notes and laid them on his desk, to be looked at again in the light of day. He went through to his kitchen and washed up; wiped down the countertops; then shut off the lights and wandered through to the bathroom. While he was cleaning his teeth his phone chimed to signal Nami’s text landing: he reached over left-handed and opened it.

_‘Home safe & sound :) Now go 2 bed xxx’_

Sanji smiled. He rinsed out his mouth then headed for the bedroom, taking the phone with him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he quickly typed a short reply. _‘Falling into the arms of Morpheus directly. Sweet dreams my lovely xxx’_

Immediately another text landed. _‘U2. CMB nxt wk K?’_

Sanji keyed in his answer. _‘Without fail. xxx ooo’_ He waited a few moments, but no further messages arrived. Turning off his phone, he laid it on the nightstand and picked up his alarm clock; checked it was set for 3:30am, before shedding his clothes and crawling under the covers. Reaching out he clicked off the lamp: shut his eyes and tried his best to clear his brain of all the thoughts that were occupying it. Worrying about the long list of tasks he had to tackle. Remembering the other questions he still had to run by Nami, that they hadn’t had time to get to tonight. Wondering how busy his shift was going to be at the hotel tomorrow.

 

_Thank fuck I’m not working Sunday._

 

And then every other thought was eclipsed by the sudden remembrance that on Sunday evening he would be seeing Zoro again. Lying in the darkness, Sanji let out a long breath.

 

_Oh, great. Like I’m going to get any sleep now._

 

He thought of his alarm going off in less than four hours’ time, and by sheer effort of will forced his mind to embrace the notion of standing down. Whether it was from determination or fatigue, he was successful. Settling his head down into the pillow he felt the world retreat to a manageable distance. His last conscious thought before he yielded to sleep, was to wonder if his tiramisu could’ve used just a shade more dark rum in the espresso to make it absolutely perfect.


	3. You And I Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Normally, for a real savate match I’d be wearing shoes.” Sanji shrugged. “But normally, I guess, you’d be swinging a bamboo sword, so that kind of evens things out.”
> 
> “It’s called a shinai,” Zoro reminded him, rolling his shoulders slightly as he stood there. “How about, first one to lay the other flat on the deck is the winner.”
> 
> “Best of three?” suggested Sanji.
> 
> A slightly predatory smile came onto Zoro’s face. “Whatever you say. Any old injuries you need me to know about? Back problems?”
> 
> “Don’t hold back on my account.” Sanji gave him an answering dangerous grin.
> 
> “Okay.” And without preamble, Zoro dropped into stance, bringing his hands up.

* * *

 

_Even the best fall down sometimes_  
_Even the wrong words seem to rhyme_  
_Out of the doubt that fills my mind_  
_I somehow find_  
_You and I collide_

_\- Howie Day_

 

* * *

 

 

For Sanji, Saturday passed in a blur of fatigue and the full-on rush of the hotel kitchen at its weekend peak busyness. He almost sleepwalked home, managing to stay awake just long enough to shower off the accumulated odours of his cooking shift, eat and check his emails before falling into bed and sleeping for twelve glorious hours.

When he awoke on Sunday morning it was a little after eight and he felt like a new man. He enjoyed an unhurried breakfast and a large cafetière of coffee, sprawled on the couch: luxuriating in the lack of urgency to be anywhere.

His gaze rested on the window: pale winter sunlight falling through the slightly dusty glass, another bright cold day. He could see a section of clear blue sky above the tops of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. The sight filled him with a sudden wave of energy: a restlessness, but in a good way. He sat up, setting his empty coffee mug on the table.

_I haven’t been for a run in weeks._

The fine day outside called to him through the window. He found a smile coming to his face.

 

 

It took only ten minutes to change into sweats and locate his running shoes. Ten minutes after that he was walking swiftly along the sidewalk in the fresh cold January air, warming up his body before starting his run proper. Everything looked crisp and distinct, as though the world was more in focus than usual. Sanji felt himself smiling again, a sense of _joie de vivre_ welling up inside him. As he moved down the street, he passed a young woman muffled up in layers of fleece, walking a small dog of nondescript breed: she followed him with her glance and gave him a shy but friendly smile of her own. Sanji returned her look with a happy nod and kept on moving.

Once he’d reached the corner of the block he felt warmed up enough to break into an easy running pace. It felt good to be moving outdoors, speeding along. Muscles fallen slightly into uncondition protested a little a first, but even that slight ache felt satisfying.

_I’ll run to the park. That’s about 3K, should manage that easy._

He wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the fine winter’s morning. He saw more than one runner pounding the pavement, some speeding along to the beat of music in their earphones, others jogging more leisurely in pairs, chatting. By the time Sanji reached the park he was glowing with warmth and energy, and only slightly out of breath. He let himself slow to a walk, hands on hips as he breathed down and let his pulse drop back down to normal. There were a few people about enjoying the sunny green space, but it was still cold enough that no-one was sitting on the park benches. Sanji walked across a wide expense of grass scattered with trees, still feeling good energy flowing through his veins. In the distance he could see a tall, bulky man apparently going through a fitness reps workout, his breath visible as smoky puffs in the cold air.

_Well, that’s not such a bad idea either._ It had been weeks since he’d gone running, but the time elapsed since he’d last run through his savate warm-ups was a lot longer. And for tonight’s sparring he ought to be better prepared.

_No way am I losing._

The thought came clear and definite. Not simply because he wanted to be the one choosing where they would eat afterwards, although for sure Sanji had marginal confidence in Zoro’s ability to pick somewhere decent. No, there was a stronger desire behind it. A desire to hold his own with the other man: to show he was just as strong, just as fast. And not forgetting, the idea of getting Zoro flat on gym mat with himself on top had an attraction all of its own.

Sanji felt a glow colouring his cheeks. _Focus, idiot._

 

 

He started off gradually with his savate warm-up: beginning with footwork, pacing back and forth and side to side, building up speed, finding a rhythm. Then bringing in kicks, starting with low side _fouettés_ and _coups de pied bas_ ; then increasing the height and reach of his moves, the steps in between; throwing in a spin, a pivot; _chassés_ sidekicks to head height, turns into _revers,_ hooking sweeps that targeted an imaginary back of the knee. As he continued the moves began to flow more instinctively, to link together into sequences, a stylised dance around a visualised partner. The savate began to blend, as it always did for him, with other techniques: taekwondo, capoeira. He let himself go from a high _chassé_ down into an _aú_ , both hands supporting himself as he flipped over in a slow cartwheel. The world narrowed down to the blue of sky and the dark fretwork of winter trees; the cool rush of air into his lungs; the feel of the grass under the palms of his hands; the sureness of his muscles placing each kick where he wanted it to be.

He lost track of time. When he finally came to a standstill, rubbing his hands together to brush off traces of damp earth, the shadows of the trees had moved. Taking his phone out of his pocket he checked the time: a little after midday. As if on cue, his stomach growled. He smiled, repocketing his phone, before heading back home.

 

 

After lunch he set aside a few hours to make a start on tackling the first task on the list that he and Nami had drawn up: getting down some specific ideas for possible formats his catering business might take. This necessitated a lot of internet surfing to see what other types of eatery and catering set-ups existed; first in general, and then narrowing down to seeing what local competition there appeared to be. It was a useful process, starting to crystallise thoughts he’d had about what he wanted – and equally importantly, didn’t want – to do.

_Coffee outlets are a dime a dozen, so that’s a non-starter. Snack food’s always popular, but there’s no point me aiming for high volume turnover because it’ll just be me out there. So I’d be better off doing something niche, like Nami said. Catering would be easier but it’d take a while to pick up customers: so I really ought to look at some kind of street-based outlet to start with. Small premises, minimal outlay; not too big a menu, better to cook fewer things excellently._

He mused on possible cuisine options. He didn’t want tobe peddling the same fare as countless other eateries, but if he went too innovative that would likely be harder to tempt customers to try... Not to mention potentially expensive in terms of sourcing ingredients. The upside was that he lived in a city with a multicultural population, not to mention plenty of students and tourists: that gave him a potential market for food that was a little different from the run-of-the-mill.

 

 

Sanji looked at the notepad he’d been writing on. Bulletpointed lists of options. Some underlined or circled; some with multiple question marks after. Lines and arrows linking some circled words to others. And in one corner of the page, an absent doodle of a plate of food with little curls of steam rising from it. He let out a small sigh.

_Not as easy as it looks, this brainstorming thing._

He checked the time: a quarter to five. Time to get ready for going out. A small kick of pleasurable excitement registered in his gut.

_At least I made a start on this stuff._ Rising quickly he put his notes and laptop back onto his desk, before heading towards his bedroom.

 

 

Sanji liked to dress well, but choosing what to wear for this particular date proved more than usually challenging. For one, he was starting the evening by sparring with Zoro: so it made no sense to show up at the gym dressed for an evening out. So he had to take a change of clothes with him, which meant picking something which would tolerate being carried around in a gym bag without suffering too much in appearance, whilst still fitting the criteria of making him look eminently desirable. After countless semi-obsessive variations, he settled on a black v-neck sweater and tight light grey jeans, packing them into his bag before donning track pants, a t-shirt and hoodie.

Flex Gym where Zoro worked was a half-hour bus ride away. Half an hour which Sanji spent staring out of the window not seeing much of anything he was looking at. The pleasant kick of excitement in his guts had been replaced by a less comfortable growing tension. It wasn’t unexpected - he’d long ago got used to the fact that new experiences were a sure-fire trigger for his anxiety – but in this instance he had to work hard at directing his energy into staying calm and not following those unhelpful thoughts.

_What if New Year’s Eve was just a spur-of-the-moment thing? And when we meet up today, it feels totally awkward?_

Sanji breathed in slowly. Breathed out just as slowly, releasing the tension in his body.

_What if I was just imagining that attraction to him? If it was just about me not having gotten any for a while?_

A frown crept over his face.

_What if he decides he doesn’t actually like me?_

The knot in his stomach wound tighter. Sanji deliberately lifted his shoulders up around his ears, then let them drop. Repeated this a few times.

_Hell with it. You’re going sparring. Concentrate on that. Whatever else happens will happen, however it’s meant to._

As a positive thought this was less than wholly comforting, but it worked. Sanji managed to turn his focus externally, spending the remainder of the journey watching the street slide by.

 

 

When he alighted from the bus it was only ten minutes’ walk to the gym. It was located in a side street at the edge of a small shopping mall, which on an early Sunday evening was mostly closed apart from the odd café. Flex Gym’s brushed steel sign on a modernistic black frontage looked fairly new: once inside, the spruceness of the fixtures and fittings confirmed this initial impression, and Sanji recollected what Zoro had said about the gym having recently upgraded their equipment. The entrance lobby was well lit and spacious, with a seating area and a juice bar over to one side where a few gym customers were sitting and chatting. Straight ahead a reception desk was occupied by a tall blonde woman in a black uniform with a Flex Gym logo on the shirt, talking with another woman who had evidently finished her gym visit with a swim if her damp curly hair was anything to go by. As Sanji approached the curly-haired woman hefted her gym bag more securely onto her shoulder and turned to go. “Thanks as ever, Laura. I’ll be back in on Tuesday for my regular class.”

“See you then, Ms Walker.”

The customer smiled, then walked past Sanji with a polite acknowledging nod. Behind the desk the receptionist gave Sanji a welcoming look. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”

“Hi.” Sanji smiled at her. “Yeah. I’m Sanji Black, I’m meeting one of your staff here: Zoro Roronoa. Could you point me in his direction?”

“Oh, Zoro? Sure, he said he was expecting a guest. Give me a second...” Laura checked the computer screen at one side of the desk. “Right... He’s teaching a Qigong class in studio three just now, but it’ll be finishing in fifteen minutes. Are you a Flex Gym member?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

Laura smiled and shook her head. “No worries. Just fill out this guest registration card with your details and I’ll put you on the system.” She waited as he did so, taking the card when he’d finished. “OK, Sanji: that’s great, thanks. You want to go through now? All the studios are on the first floor. There’s a seating area just outside studio three, you can wait for Zoro there.”

“Great. Thanks.” Sanji returned her smile, before heading through the doorway that led to the gym’s interior.

 

 

The stairs that went up to the first floor opened out onto a wide brightly-lit corridor, Sanji walking along until he saw _STUDIO 3_ above a set of double doors. As Lana had promised, there were a couple of chairs in a seating area a little to one side, next to a water cooler. Sanji glanced at them, but his attention was more drawn to the studio doors themselves. Windows were set into them, allowing outsiders to view the class within. Sanji had never taken a Qigong class himself: and curious to see Zoro in action, he stepped up to the doors and peered through.

The studio, about fifty feet square, was wooden floored with windows down the left-hand side and a mirror wall opposite them. Standing facing away from him were about twenty people, feet slightly apart, bringing their hands down in a slow movement. And at the front of the gym, facing the class, was Zoro, wearing black gym pants and the same short-sleeved Flex Gym shirt as the receptionist had been sporting. Like his students he was barefoot.

 

 

Sanji felt a small warm glow flower in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the other man.

_Okay, definitely not imagining the attraction._

As he watched, Zoro’s hands came to rest by his sides. For maybe the space of a breath he held still: then he began to move again, stepping into a wide stance before turning to his left and bringing up his two lightly-clenched fists. Slowly his left arm extended, finger and thumb forming an L-shape, while his right hand drew back against his chest. Another almost imperceptible pause, then his left hand opened and began a slow sweep across in front of him, his gaze tracking it as it moved until his right hand brushed along his arm, extending outwards with right finger and thumb mirroring the same L-shape as before. A beat of silence; then Zoro unhurriedly let his body swing back the other way; repeating each gesture with reflected precision. And the entire class of people moved in unison with him, in silent choreography.

Sanji watched, fixed by the flow of Zoro’s hands, the slow graceful pattern of the move. And at the same time trying to figure out the purpose of it, the meaning behind the gestures. It was weirdly reminiscent of something, he couldn’t think what – and then he saw it. When Zoro had one arm outstretched, finger and thumb held as if framing something, the other hand pulled back in a curled fist against his chest: it was the pose of an archer drawing back a bow. But there was nothing martial about the action. It looked steady, controlled, sure. Zoro’s gaze followed his moving hands; his face intent yet relaxed.

Sanji leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, and watched for the rest of the class. There was something hypnotic about the Qigong sequences, with their slow but unstoppable rhythm. When at last at the class’s end Zoro took a step forward, placed his hands together and gave a brief formal bow which his class returned, Sanji found himself surfacing as if he’d been doing the routines himself.

The class’s participants began to scatter; some to pick up water bottles from the side of the room, a couple stepping up to exchange a few words with Zoro before turning away; all gradually drifting toward the door. Sanji retreated to the seating area as they began to exit, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he’d been watching. He waited until the double doors swung shut and stayed quiet for half a minute, before approaching them again. Putting one hand on them he pushed inwards, walking through.

 

 

Over at the front of the room Zoro was standing with his back toward the doors, drinking from a water bottle. Evidently not realising that Sanji’s footfall wasn’t one of his Qigong students, he spoke without turning round. “Forget something?”

“No.” Zoro turned round at once, lowering the water bottle and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Sanji had an irrational little nudge of satisfaction of catching the other man slightly unawares. “Hi. Figured I might as well walk in, if your class is over. Looked like you were finished.”

Zoro smiled. “Hi. Yeah, I’m done. It’s fine to come in.”

Sanji felt the slight remaining knot in his stomach loosen. “You don’t need some downtime after teaching, or whatever?” He gestured towards the door and the departed Qigong students.

“Nah.” Zoro stepped to one side and picked up a small towel from the floor, draping it around his neck. “It’s not exactly a high-energy class.”

“Looked interesting,” Sanji commented.

Zoro gave him a sidelong look. “And by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘weird hippy shit’, I’m thinking.”

“Not exactly.” Sanji shrugged. “I mean, Qigong’s not something I know anything about... But it looked like it took discipline. Concentration.”

“Mmh-hm.” Zoro nodded. “I’m covering this class for another guy while he’s on holiday. It’s not really my thing, though.” A slight grin came to his face. “Too fucking slow.”

Sanji grinned too. “Not enough action for your liking?”

“Pretty much,” Zoro freely admitted. “But as far as leading a class goes, it’s an easy hour’s work.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall, before bending down and pulling on a pair of gym shoes. “Speaking of which, there’s another class starting in here pretty soon. Let’s head out.”

“We’re not sparring in here?” Sanji followed the other man to the door.

 

 

Zoro shook his head, pushing the door open. “We’ve got smaller practice spaces on the next floor up. There’s a men’s staff locker room and showers up there too: you can dump your bag in my locker.”

“Great.” Sanji found himself falling into step beside the other man as they walked along the corridor to the stairs. From his viewpoint he could see that the cut above Zoro’s left eye was now scarcely noticeable, although the bruising on his face had reached the colourful stage. “How’s your week been? Inundated with new members, like you figured?”

“S’okay.” Zoro shrugged. “Busy. Pretty much what I expected. How about you?”

“It’s been good.” Even as the words came out, Sanji was pleased to discover this was true. “I started a new temp job Tuesday, chefing at a hotel. It’s an okay gig, so far.”

“So that manager bitch from the night club didn’t call in her threat to drop you in shit with the agency, then?” Zoro turned through the stair doorway, leading the way upwards.

 

 

Sanji was silent for a moment, slightly jarred. _Bitch_ was not a word he liked any man using for a woman. “Although she definitely qualified for the Miss Uncongeniality Award, I wouldn’t call her that.” He kept his tone light. “And as it happens, I got in with my version of events first. So I came out of it smelling about as much of roses as was possible in the circumstances.”

“Result.” Zoro pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth. That I nobly sprang to the defence of an innocent customer, thereby saving the unfortunate victim from an inevitable ass-kicking.” Sanji grinned.

Zoro gave him a look. “Bullshit.”

“Y’know what they say: to make a lie more convincing, embed it in the truth.” Sanji followed Zoro in through a door marked STAFF ONLY. “And it’s not a total fabrication. If I hadn’t gotten involved, that guy with the bottle would have introduced you to a world of pain.”

Zoro gave a wry smile and half shake of his head. “Uh huh.” He stopped by a row of lockers behind a long wooden bench; keyed the combination lock on one and opened its door. “You can put your bag in here.”

Sanji set it inside, noting that Zoro’s locker, instead of being untidy as he’d half expected, was scrupulously ordered: street clothes and a spare gym uniform neatly hung up; a towel, shower gel, razor and deodorant stacked on one small shelf; a pair of shoes and a pair of trainers lined up on the locker floor. He glimpsed at the back of the locker a long thin black case with a carrying strap, its soft material printed with what looked like Japanese characters... And then Zoro closed the locker door. “Okay. The practice room we’re using is just along the corridor.”

 

 

The room was a good deal smaller than the studio Sanji had seen on the floor below. It was also windowless: not that this mattered, because when they stepped inside Zoro hit a light switch and the room was illuminated by bright ceiling fluorescents. There were already some mats laid on the floor, forming a square practice space several metres across. Zoro walked to an open-fronted cupboard. “You want sparring gloves?”

“No thanks.” Sanji sat down briefly on a bench to take off his hoodie and slip off his shoes and socks, before standing and walking onto the mats: tested the surface experimentally with his bare feet. “I don’t use my hands for striking, remember?”

Zoro grunted in acknowledgement. “Suit yourself. I’m wearing gloves. How about headgear?”

Sanji grinned. “If you think you need it.”

A quick flash of fire from Zoro’s dark eyes. “I meant for _you_ , shitty cook.”

“I’m touched by your concern for my welfare. But I don’t plan on getting hit in the head. Plus I don’t like wearing headgear, throws my senses off.”

 

 

Zoro slid his hands into a set of sparring gloves, fastening the Velcro around his wrists before flexing his fingers. He took off his shoes too, before walking onto the mats and coming to stand facing Sanji, a couple of paces away. “How d’you want to do this?”

“Like, what’re the rules?” Zoro nodded. “You ever sparred with a savate fighter before?”

Zoro shook his head. “But muay thai, kick boxing... Mixed it up with those guys a few times.”

“Normally, for a real savate match I’d be wearing shoes.” Sanji shrugged. “But normally, I guess, you’d be swinging a bamboo sword, so that kind of evens things out.”

“It’s called a shinai,” Zoro reminded him, rolling his shoulders slightly as he stood there. “How about, first one to lay the other flat on the deck is the winner.”

“Best of three?” suggested Sanji.

A slightly predatory smile came onto Zoro’s face. “Whatever you say. Any old injuries you need me to know about? Back problems?”

“Don’t hold back on my account.” Sanji gave him an answering dangerous grin.

“Okay.” And without preamble, Zoro dropped into stance, bringing his hands up.

 

 

_Game on._

 

 

Sanji let himself start to move, feet shifting as the two of them circled: watching each other’s face, following the rhythm. Looking for an opening.

Zoro struck first, unexpectedly throwing out a low kick towards Sanji’s knee before following up with a left-right punch combo that reminded the chef just how quickly the other man could move. He evaded all three moves, but only just: he felt the wind of the last punch as he fell back. As he straightened up and gave a considering look, Zoro still had that shark-like smile on his face. “What, you think you’re the only one knows how to kick?”

“Oh, that was a kick?” Sanji raised his eyebrows. “You should’ve said. I’ll make allowances for your inexperience.” And then he was stepping in, side-kicking up to Zoro’s chest, towards his head. Zoro blocked both strokes but it was his turn to give ground. Sanji pivoted on the spot, using his momentum to deliver a third kick that caught the other man in the ribs and pushed him a couple of steps backwards. Moving lightly on his bare feet, Sanji heard Zoro’s _Ufff_ of breath; saw him quickly recover. “Now _that’s_ what we call a kick.”

 

 

Zoro‘s eyes flicked up: his mouth settling into a determined line. “You can dance all you want, cook. You’re going down.”

“As it happens, I like to dance.” Sanji watched the other man’s body shift, trying to sense what was coming next. “If you like, when I’m done kicking your ass here I can show you how to improve your dance moves too.”

Again Zoro moved swiftly, striking out blows that Sanji fielded with his knee, his forearm. And a third blow towards his head, that brought his arms up to block: a blow that turned out to be a feint and before he realised it Zoro had changed target and a gloved fist landed in Sanji’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. He fell back, momentarily unsteadied. As he caught his breath, Zoro said, “I don’t dance. But I can mosh, if you can handle that.”

Finally getting his diaphragm back into functioning order, Sanji gave a half shake of his head. “Figures.”

 

 

They continued to move around the mats, trading moves; getting faster, getting into the flow. Sanji reckoned they were pretty evenly matched: Zoro had the edge in weight and he was fast as fuck, but he couldn’t quite match Sanji’s agility or the distance advantage the chef’s kicks gave him. They both landed hits, though nothing major; each man was set on winning, but an unspoken caution not to deliver anything that would cause real damage kept the sparring within safe limits.

Sanji tried to sweep Zoro’s leg from under him with a hooking kick to the back of the knee: Zoro lurched but stayed upright and the next instant Sanji felt two hands close around his wrist. An irresistible pull yanked his arm and shoulder downwards and suddenly Sanji felt the world spin around him as he slammed into the mat on his back. He had just enough to time to blink up at the ceiling but do nothing else before Zoro landed on top of him, pinning his shoulders flat to the floor with his chest against Sanji’s. Sanji felt his left arm pulled outwards and over Zoro’s thigh to be trapped under his other knee, a hold that was swiftly painful enough that Sanji let out a yelp and slapped the other man hard on the shoulder with his free hand. “Yeow! Okay, enough!”

 

 

Zoro instantly released him, rolling off and getting to his feet. He held one hand down to Sanji: the chef took it, letting himself be helped up. Once he got his hand back he used it to massage his left shoulder. “Jesus. That’s a fuck of a move.”

“You okay?” A slight frown edged its way between Zoro’s brows.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Sanji rotated his left shoulder cautiously.

“Want a time out?”

“I said I’m okay.” Sanji gave him a scowl. “You’re not _that_ strong, craphead.”

“First down to me.” Zoro let a smug expression take over his face. “Plus I think I should get a bonus point, for making you scream like a girl.”

Sanji gritted his teeth. _You are going to pay for that one, you cocky bastard._ “Stick to the rules, asshole. Best of three falls, that’s what we agreed.”

“Fine.” Zoro came in for the attack.

 

 

Sanji used the annoyance he felt, channelled it, forced it to sharpen his focus. Tracked the way Zoro moved, the sequences of blows he seemed to favour; the few weaknesses he appeared to have. Like the fact he couldn’t block every kick, if Sanji moved quickly enough and varied kick heights so that no two attacks were directed to the same place. Or that he didn’t seem familiar with some of the techniques Sanji was using, his anarchic blend of savate, capoeira and self-invented moves delivering enough surprises that Zoro was sometimes taken unawares.

They exchanged a flurry of kicks, punches, blocks. Then Sanji felt Zoro’s hand start to close around his right wrist, the other man seemingly trying for another throw. Sanji immediately shifted his weight onto his left foot before stepping in and kicking mid-height with the right, targeting Zoro’s back. The hand on his wrist slid free and Sanji was turning, spinning to deliver a reverse kick that slammed into the back of Zoro’s left knee and brought the other man down onto the mat on his back with a satisfying _smack_. Just to finish things off, Sanji dropped down and poised with one knee a couple of inches above Zoro’s throat.

Zoro‘s eyes were screwed shut; after a moment he opened them, grimaced at the sight of Sanji’s knee hovering above his windpipe, and said in a slightly breathless voice, “Okay.”

Sanji shifted back and stood up, before returning the favour Zoro had done him earlier: extending his hand, he helped the other man get back to his feet. Zoro rubbed one hand against his back, massaging his kidneys. “Nngh...”

“Need a time out?” enquired Sanji mock-solicitously.

This time it was Zoro’s turn to scowl. “I’m fine.”

“Good. One to me.”

 

 

As both of them squared up for the deciding point, it was evident from Zoro’s stance and expression that he wasn’t going to be beaten easily. But Sanji had decided that morning – hell, he had decided from the minute they’d arranged this sparring match – that he was not going to lose. And now they were both determined, and warmed up, and each had gotten the measure of just how good the other was, they were taking more risks. Hitting harder. Not holding back as much. It had shifted from sparring almost into fight territory, because each of them wanted to see how far the other could be pushed; how far they could push themselves.

Sanji span a series of kicks that Zoro evaded, and took an elbow blow into his ribs that sent him back panting for air. A few minutes later Zoro dodged left when he should have dodged right: Sanji’s foot met him halfway and connected with his side, sending him staggering.

_You’re the one who’s going down._

Sanji moved from side to side, shifting his weight, watching for an opening. Zoro feinted then moved in quick and hard, striking blows that forced Sanji to block and block again; until one of Zoro’s strikes got through and actually glanced off Sanji’s chin, jolting his head sideways.

_Whoa –_

Sanji felt the universe tilt: got it back with an effort. The blow to his head had made him turn; he continued the movement, spinning and bending over forwards, reaching down towards the floor, his back to Zoro. Showing the other man that he was dizzy enough to almost go down.

 

 

It had the desired effect. Zoro stepped in close to finish it: and Sanji swiftly rose on his hands into a cartwheel, lifting his hips and spinning his legs through a complete circle, finding Zoro on the way. His feet took the other man down and then Sanji was flipping himself back up to standing and Zoro was lying face-up on the mat with a slightly stunned expression. Sanji bounced on the balls of his feet before coming to a halt, breathing only a little hard.

Zoro looked up at him. “...Fuck.” Propping himself up on one elbow, he rubbed his neck where Sanji’s feet had caught him. “That was seriously freaky. What the hell was that?”

“Helicóptero. It’s capoeira, kind of a modified aú move, like a cartwheel. People who don’t know capoeira never see it coming.” Sanji grinned down at him.

“No kidding.” Zoro sat up, gave his neck a final rub, then got to his feet. One corner of his mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. “I guess you win, cook.”

Sanji accepted this acknowledgement with a nod. “Yeah. So I choose where we get to eat dinner.”

 

 

Zoro began pulling undone the Velcro that held his gloves closed, walking over to the store cupboard he’d got them from. “Sure.” He tossed the gloves in, before looking back at the chef. “Wait... You wanted to win just because of _that?”_

Sanji crossed to where he’d left his shoes and hoodie. “That was a factor. But I would’ve done it purely for the pleasure of seeing the look on your face that last time I floored you.”

Zoro’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bite. They walked out of the practice space and back into the locker room before he spoke again. “You aren’t planning for us to eat in some fancy five star French restaurant, are you?”

“You got anything against French cooking?” Sanji enquired, in deceptively calm tones.

Zoro shrugged. “Only the damage it does to my wallet. Food’s food, I don’t care.”

Sanji closed his eyes, just for a second. Then opened them again, fixing the other man with a severe look. “That is an attitude that totally sucks.”

Zoro shrugged again, opening his locker. “It’s fuel, right? As long as you get enough of it, what’s it matter what flavour it comes in.”

 

 

There were a couple of other gym staff also in the locker room with them, so Sanji refrained from kicking Zoro headfirst into his locker. “Allow me to re-educate you on that notion.”

Zoro gave him a glance over his shoulder, straightening up holding his towel and shower gel. “Don’t get in a snit, cook. I’m not saying you don’t fix a good plate of food. That stuff you cooked for me at your place was great. It’s just, I don’t massively care what I eat, as long as there’s enough of it.”

Sanji let out a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t worry. Where we’re going, I guarantee even a barbarian like you will feel satisfied.”

Zoro frowned, then stepped to one side to allow Sanji access to the locker. The chef pulled out his own bag: as he did so, he spotted again the long black cloth case propped at the back of the locker. Standing up, he gestured towards it with his thumb. “That your shinai in there?”

Zoro gave him a glance, as if slightly surprised that Sanji had noticed it. “No. I haven’t got my Kendo gear with me today.”

Sanji noticed the lack of further information, and was somehow intrigued by this. “What is it, then?” He let a smile come onto his face. “Your light sabre? Is this the point where I learn you’re big into cosplay? Because that could be fun.”

Zoro snorted. “And you’d know that because..?”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” Sanji still wanted to know what was in the case. “I just wondered what you had stashed back there.”

Zoro hesitated for a second: then reached in and took the case out. Unfastening the cord that was tied around the case, he unfolded the top to reveal two wooden handles. Taking hold of one he slid it free of the case, then held it diagonally in front of him, tip upwards: a long wooden Japanese-style sword, made from some kind of pale close-grained timber.

 

 

Sanji looked at it, then at Zoro. “Okay. So I’m intrigued to find out why you keep big wooden toy swords in your locker.”

“They’re bokken.” Zoro sounded like he was determined not to rise to Sanji’s jibes. “I use them for Iaido.”

“Which is..?”

“Non-competitive swordsmanship. Basically.”

“Non-competitive?” Sanji found it unlikely that this would be one of Zoro’s interests. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A slight smile came onto Zoro’s face. “It’s not about fun. It’s about control. And being as good as you can be.” His eyes ran along the length of the bokken’s blade. “Mostly you do Iaido on your own, using kata: you practice drawing the blade, cutting down an opponent, removing his blood from your katana, and resheathing the sword.”

“Sounds delightful.” Sanji raised an eyebrow.

“It’s an old martial art. It began around five hundred years ago, in Japan. The idea was to take out your opponent with one stroke of your sword, immediately after drawing your blade.”

“Totally useful for the challenges of modern urban living.” Sanji regarded the pale polished wood. “Is it okay to touch it?”

Zoro nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

 

 

Sanji lightly ran one finger along the smooth wood. The bokken wasn’t ornately carved, but it had a feeling of quality about it nonetheless. Despite its simple wooden form, there was a feeling of purpose about the sword. Or maybe this had something to do with the way Zoro was holding it. It gave Sanji a slightly odd feeling, looking at the other man. Zoro wasn’t even holding the sword in a threatening pose, but there was an intensity about him that felt simultaneously disconcerting and absolutely _right_.

Sanji let his hand drop. “It’s a nice piece of work. Did you make it?”

Zoro shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of skill. I bought it.”

“What’s the wood?”

“Shirogashi. Japanese white oak.” Zoro placed the tip of the bokken back in its cloth case, and slid the sword smoothly and gently home. “It’s good for Iaido. If I was doing suburi, Kendo sword exercises, I’d use a suburitō, which is a heavier type of bokken. But for Iaido you want something more like a real katana.”

“Stopping short of actually using a real one, I assume. Because that kind of shit only happens in _Kill Bill_.” Sanji grinned.

Zoro folded the cloth over the top of the case and neatly tied it shut. His reply came after a momentary pause, as he replaced the case back in his locker. “Yeah.” He closed the door. “I’m gonna get a shower.”

Sanji watched him. “Sure.” He picked up his bag. “After you.”

 

 

The gym staff showers were separate cubicles, which Zoro was pretty sure had disappointed Sanji when the chef had seen them. For himself it gave him a few minutes of headspace, which after their brief conversation he needed.

The chef’s curiosity about his bokken hadn’t been unexpected. Zoro was used to his work colleagues being interested in his martial arts, and in the equipment he used for them... But Sanji’s last comment had been less welcome.

Zoro bowed his head under the shower, letting the stream of hot water sluice his thoughts away.

_Forget it. He didn’t mean anything by it._

The warmth of the shower was pleasantly soothing. He could still feel the places on his body where the chef had made contact with him, during their sparring match.

 

 

That was a good distraction. He let himself remember how it had felt, to have Sanji pinned underneath him on the mat. The warmth where their chests pressed together. The half-startled, half-furious expression on Sanji’s face.

He had been surprised at just how good the chef’s fighting skills were. Of course he’d seen him in action before, at the night club: but Zoro had been kind of busy at the time, so he hadn’t taken much in. Considering what a lean build he had, Sanji was plenty strong. Not to mention flexible. Which Zoro looked forward to testing out, in other ways.

He remembered the chef’s last move, that mindblowing spin that he never even saw coming. The impact of Sanji’s legs catching him round the neck and flipping him down onto the mat. Those long, strong legs.

 

 

A footstep in the passage between the shower stalls made him glance round. Another gym trainer, walking past with his towel wrapped round his waist; raising a hand briefly in greeting. “Hey, Zoro.”

Zoro lifted his own hand in answer, hoping that the warm water would prove a sufficient excuse for the flush he felt across his face. “Hi, TJ.”

The other man continued to another shower stall: disappeared inside. A moment later the sound of streaming water began, interspersed with tuneless humming.

Zoro shut off his own shower and reached for his towel, before walking back out to the locker room. There was no sign of Sanji, which at this point was probably just as well. Quickly Zoro got dried and dressed, slung that day’s used gym uniform in his bag, and headed out to the passageway.

 

 

Sanji was waiting a few yards away with his bag hanging from one shoulder, apparently studying a poster about body-building supplements with a slight frown on his face. At the clunk of the locker room door closing he swung around, and smiled when he saw Zoro. “Ha. I was beginning to think you’d taken a wrong turn in there, got lost in the shower.”

“I wasn’t that long.”

“Long enough.” Sanji gestured with his head down the corridor, before starting walking. “But where we’re eating isn’t far, we can make it in fifteen minutes or thereabouts. You hungry?”

Following behind the chef, Zoro found himself gazing at the way those tight jeans moved. “Yeah.” He swallowed slightly. “You?”

Sanji made an airy gesture. “For good food, always.”

 

 

They descended the stairs to the ground floor, coming out into the gym’s reception area. Figuring that by walking next to the chef he would remove at least one distraction, Zoro fell into stride alongside him. “I thought chefs were usually big eaters. But you don’t exactly look like you make a habit of supersizing.”

Sanji shook his head. “It’s about quality, not quantity. I love good food.” His face took on a slightly thoughtful expression. “I think it’s entirely possible to orgasm solely from having your tastebuds stimulated.”

Zoro shot a quick look around. “You want to keep your voice down? I have to work here.”

Sanji laughed. “Relax. I won’t be doing anything inappropriate where we’re eating tonight.”

Zoro felt a pang of what he could only call disappointment, but covered it well. “Good. Where _are_ we eating tonight?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” Now they were outside the door, Sanji stopped on the sidewalk and fished his cigarettes and lighter out: lit one up. When he spoke again, smoke curled out with his words. “But I think you’ll like it.”

“Enigmatic.” Zoro wasn’t a big fan of surprises, but he decided to go along with this one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wanted to know...
> 
> Glossary of terms used for moves in savate and capoeira: fouetté = a roundhouse kick; coup de pied bas = low kick to the shin while leaning backwards; chassé = piston kick; revers = hooking kick; aú = a cartwheel move.
> 
> Qigong (pronounced chi goong) = a Chinese moving meditation practice with origins in martial arts, philosophy and Chinese medicine, which combines breathing and focus with a system of movements, intended to balance qi (chi) or life energy. Could be compared to practices such as t'ai chi ch'uan and yoga.
> 
> Last but not least: any technical mistakes I've made in describing Zoro and Sanji's sparring match are mine alone, as my sparring experience is virtually nil. As a responsible adult I would like to point out that sparring without protective gear is potentially a good way to end up with serious injuries, if you don't know what you're doing. Unlike the two uber-competitive dorks portrayed here, of course...


	4. The Whole World's Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How come you smoke so much?” It didn’t actually bother Zoro, but it felt like a good way to ruffle the chef’s feathers... Which he was aware he was getting a kick from.
> 
> Sanji allowed an elegant stream of smoke to escape from his parted lips, before replying. “Because I like it.”
> 
> “You ever tried quitting?”
> 
> “What is this, an intervention? Are you going to tell me how much better my life could be if I invited Jesus in?”

* * *

 

_We made love tonight as the result of a fight  
When you put your arms around me the whole world’s alright_

_\- Man Overboard_

 

* * *

 

 

Sanji’s estimate had been more or less accurate: a little over twenty minutes after leaving the gym, he led them down a side street and brought them to a halt. “Okay. Here we are.”

Zoro looked at the small and slightly shabby restaurant frontage they’d stopped beside. Above a window mostly filled with faded red curtains and a menu card, a red and white sign proclaimed the restaurant’s name: _Shajarat Al'Arz_.

Sanji pushed the door open and stepped inside, with Zoro in tow. On the other side of the door they were met by a smallish space with half a dozen tables ranged about, bordered by a long counter at the room’s far side. A dark-haired man standing at this counter turned at the sound of the door opening and took in the faces of his customers; at once a smile of greeting lit up his features and he advanced, spreading his hands wide. “Sanji, my friend! _Ahlan!_ How are you?”

“ _Ahlan biik,_ Karim! Good, I’m good." Sanji let himself be embraced, exchanging three kisses to left, right and left cheeks again before stepping back. “You look well. How is your family? And the business?”

Karim lifted both palms towards the ceiling. “Both flourishing, _insha’Allah_. And you, all is well with you? It’s been too long.”

Sanji nodded. “Yeah, it has. Things’re fine with me, looking up.” He glanced to where Zoro stood a little to one side of them, regarding the pair silently, and made a slight beckoning gesture. “Karim, this is my friend Zoro. I’ve brought him along so he can experience the delights of your cooking.”

“Ah, Zoro? Welcome, welcome.” Karim extended his hand to shake Zoro’s. “You have eaten Lebanese food before?”

 _Lebanese?_ Zoro had no clue what kind of cuisine that was likely to entail. “No.”

 

 

“I’m educating his palate,” proclaimed Sanji, with a sly smile. “I was thinking a selection of mezze, maybe ten or so dishes?”

Karim nodded. “Of course.”

Zoro looked at Sanji. “Don’t I get to look at a menu first?”

Karim wagged a finger. “You don’t need to: I will choose for you. You like spicy food? You eat meat?”

“Yeah.” Zoro felt mildly irritated by the assumption that he wasn’t capable of making his own decisions about what he wanted to eat.

“Okay. Leave it to me.” Karim gestured towards a table. “You sit, we will bring it. And drinks?”

“You got any beer?” Zoro was at least going to ensure he got some say in that. Karim nodded. “Almaza, okay.” He looked at Sanji. “Arak for you?”

Sanji smiled. “Of course.”  

 

 

Once they were sitting at a table a smiling younger waiter called Rachid brought over Zoro’s beer, then set down a jug of chilled water and a tall narrow glass containing a couple of inches of clear liquid in front of Sanji. The chef picked up the jug and topped up his glass with water: as he did so its contents blurred and turned cloudy white. He picked his glass up and held it out slightly towards Zoro. “ _Santé_.”

Not to be outdone in the multilingual stakes, Zoro lifted his glass of beer and let the rims clink together. “ _Kanpai._ ”

Sanji acknowledged this with another smile; took a sip of his arak, before setting it back down. Zoro caught a strong whiff of aniseed. He nodded at the drink. “The only thing I’ve ever seen do that when you add water to it, is the stuff we use at work for cleaning the shower room floors.”

An expression that was half-amused, half-disgusted crossed Sanji’s face. “Thank you for sharing that image.”

Zoro took a drink of his beer, appreciating that first cold mouthful. “It’s some Arabic thing, I’m guessing.”

“Arabic, Turkish, eastern European, Greek...” Sanji made a gesture that encompassed a global space. “A lot of places have something like it. In France they make pastis, which is pretty similar. A little sweeter, maybe.” He picked up the glass and held it out. “You want to try it?”

Zoro shook his head. “I’m fine with beer.”

 

 

Sanji seemed unbothered by Zoro’s refusal. Taking another sip of his arak, he sat back comfortably in his chair, letting his gaze roam around the restaurant. They were the only customers in there: Zoro saw a slight frown come onto the chef’s face. “Hmm... Karim says the business is flourishing, but I wonder. Doesn’t look exactly busy in here tonight.”

Zoro glanced around too. “Maybe people just don’t go out for dinner much on Sunday evenings. Eating out on a Sunday, that’s more of a lunchtime thing, isn’t it?”

Sanji regarded him. “I bow to your superior knowledge of the catering industry.”

“Okay, smartass. I’m not about to trespass on your field of expertise. I just thought that’s how it was.”

“You’re probably right.” Sanji looked thoughtful. “Just... I really hope Karim _is_ doing okay. I think he’s had some tough years in the past.” At Zoro’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Back just after 9/11 happened, running a restaurant selling Arabic cuisine must have been a tough gig. He told me this place got its windows busted in a few times, graffiti out front, you can imagine... Not to mention, Karim got the shit kicked out of him once by a bunch of so-called patriots when he was walking home.”

“Assholes.” Zoro responded.

“Yeah. That about covers it.” Sanji took another sip of arak, before setting the glass down. “He’s such a nice guy, as well as being a shit-hot chef.”

“The two of you go back a while?”

“A few years. I took some Middle Eastern cooking classes a couple of years ago, and he was the teacher. We just kind of hit it off. After the course finished he invited me back to meet his family, taught me a bunch of his own recipes, dishes from the region where he grew up... Karim’s that kind of guy. Gives a lot to everyone, y’know?” He smiled. “He told me once that his name means ‘Generous’, in Arabic. Fits him perfectly.”

 

 

Zoro nodded. “You come here often, then?”

“Not often enough.” Sanji looked around the room again. “I like to eat out when I can, but I’ve just been kind of... busy.”

Zoro had a sense that the chef had been going to say something else. Putting two and two together and remembering that Sanji had been working temporary jobs for a while, he wondered if the chef had been living on a tight budget. Not that it was any of his business. “Well, I haven't eaten Middle Eastern food before, never mind Lebanese. So this’ll be a new experience.”

“I guarantee you’ll like it.” Sanji turned a genuine smile onto him.

“Even if I don’t get to actually choose what I eat.” That still rankled slightly.

Sanji snorted. “And as you’ve never eaten Lebanese before, that’d work well, right? Trust Karim. He’ll put together a good spread for us.”

“Okay. But next time I pick where we go.”

Sanji propped one elbow on the table. “You could’ve chosen where to go tonight, if you’d been able to stay on your feet.”

Zoro downed a swallow of his beer. “Ego inflation, much?”

“Don’t take it badly. You did okay.” Sanji adopted a smug expression. Zoro had an urge to wipe that satisfied look off his face. He wondered how Sanji would react if he leaned across the table and kissed the chef till he ran out of breath.

_Fuck, I am losing it._

It occurred to him that Sanji would probably enjoy it. Either that, or kick Zoro under the table so hard it would seriously damage his prospects for enjoying the rest of the evening.

 

 

“Your selection of mezze, as promised. ” Karim was suddenly at the table with Rachid, both men sliding a series of dishes in front of the two diners. Once each platter was set down, they stepped back and Karim gestured towards the food. “ _Bil hana_.”

“ _Yeslamo,_ ” Sanji replied.

Zoro nodded at Karim. “Thanks. Looks good.”

Karim smiled. “I told you, leave the choice to me. Enjoy your food.” With that, he and Rachid walked away.

 

 

Zoro eyed the dishes laid out on the table between them, then looked up to Sanji. “I suppose you know what all this stuff actually is.”

Sanji laughed. “Well, yeah. Want me to be your culinary translator?” Pointing to each dish in turn, he gave a brief summary. “Okay. That’s tabouleh salad; those are falafel; that’s hummus – which I assume even a gastronomic novice like you has heard of; shish taouk, basically grilled chicken; kibbeh which is ground lamb stuffed with pine nuts; sambousek, stuffed fried pastries; pickles; bread, and rice.” He gave Zoro a helpful smile. “The last two I assume you recognise.”

“Smartass.” Zoro regarded the spread before them. “Is there any particular order you have to eat this stuff in?”

“Whatever takes your fancy. Try a little of everything.” Sanji reached for a dish. “I plan to.”

 

 

Some time later, most of the dishes were empty or nearly so. Zoro looked at the last skewer of chicken.

“Go on, take it.” Sanji, leaning back in his seat, waved a hand towards the food. “It’s looking lonely and unloved.”

Zoro was actually pretty full, but he never backed down from a challenge. Taking the shish taouk he slid the meat off its skewer, before enjoying the tender spiced chicken a bite at a time. When he finished, he sat back in his chair too: let out a long breath.

“What’d I tell you?” Sanji smiled at him. “Good, eh.”

“That was great.” Zoro meant it. Every dish had been a new taste experience, a rich mix of flavours and textures. “Good call, coming here.”

Sanji acknowledged this with a nod. “When I remembered this was just a little way from where you worked, it seemed the obvious choice. I wish I could eat here every week... But I’m glad you liked it.”

 

 

The young waiter Rachid had spotted they’d finished: he appeared at the table to collect the empty dishes, smiling. “You enjoyed your meal? Perhaps some dessert?”

Zoro shook his head, but Sanji said, “Mmm, I’m tempted. Have you got baklava?”

“Yes.” Rachid nodded.

“Then one piece of baklava, and some coffee, please.” Sanji glanced at Zoro. “You want coffee, yes? Two coffees.”

“Two coffees, one baklava.” Rachid nodded again, still smiling, and moved off with a pile of empty dishes stacked in the curve of one arm. Sanji watched him go, then pushed his chair back and stood up. “This is crappy manners, but I need a cigarette. I’ll just be outside; back in a couple of minutes.” With that he walked away, exchanging a few words with Rachid as he passed by the counter, before stepping outside for his smoke break.

 

 

Zoro examined the last half-inch of beer in his glass, before downing it. All the good food he’d just eaten plus the beer were combining with his long working week to make him feel that in different circumstances, he would quite happily take a nap. But coffee was on its way: and even without it, he was aware that sleep was the last thing he was planning on any time soon.

Over the course of the meal he and the chef had talked largely about the food and their respective weeks at work; inconsequential stuff. As a rule Zoro liked to concentrate on food when he was eating, largely because living with Luffy he’d learned to focus on his food to avoid it disappearing from under his nose. And Sanji really liked to talk about food, unsurprisingly. So the meal had gone pretty smoothly so far.

The sound of the restaurant door opening and closing made him glance round: Sanji strolling back in, evidently having gotten enough of a nicotine fix in the few minutes he’d been gone. He loitered by the counter on his way back, speaking with Rachid again. The two fell into conversation, in what sounded like a different language to the one that Karim and Sanji had spoken together. As he watched Sanji let out a laugh, his head falling back a little; across from him Rachid laughed too. Then the chef leaned against the counter, making some comment, gesturing expressively with one hand, still smiling. And Zoro found himself studying those long legs again; the relaxed way the chef had propped himself against the counter; the way he sketched pictures in the air with fluid movements of his fingers.

 

 

And then Sanji was turning and walking back to their table, with Rachid following him. As the chef took his seat and Rachid set their coffees and a plate with Sanji’s baklava on the table, Sanji nodded at him. “ _Merci_ , Rachid.”

“ _De rien_.” Rachid smiled at Zoro too, before wandering back to the counter.

Zoro looked at the very small cup in front of him. Judging from the coffee’s smell and black colour he was in no danger of falling asleep once he’d drunk it. Sanji noticed his appraisal, and nodded at their cups. “Lebanese coffee. It’s basically espresso with attitude. And a little cardamom. Give it a minute or two for the grounds to settle, before you drink it.” He picked up a fork that Rachid had brought with his dessert and used it to slice off a corner of the baklava, before popping it into his mouth. “Mhmm... Wow. Sure you don’t want to try a taste of this?”

Zoro shook his head. “No thanks.”

“I know you said you don’t like sweet stuff, but this is different.” Sanji ate another piece. “You know what I said before, about having your taste buds stimulated...”

“That would be that inappropriate behaviour you mentioned earlier.” Zoro was finding it hard enough to keep from mentally undressing the chef, without Sanji starting to talk about orgasms. Watching him savour each piece of baklava was making him envy his fucking _fork_ , for chrissake. In an attempt to ground himself, he changed the subject. “Was that Arabic you were speaking to the waiter?”

“No... _Tu ne parles pas français?”_ At Zoro’s blank look, Sanji smiled. “Evidently not. No, we were speaking French. It’s what pretty much everyone in Lebanon speaks, as well as Arabic... Turns out Rachid spent a couple of years working in France, before he came here to study. Working in Karim’s restaurant is how he pays his tuition.”

 

 

There was something fluid about the way the French phrases had rolled off Sanji’s tongue, some indefinable ease about how he’d spoken, that made Zoro wonder. “Just how many languages do you speak?”

“A few. I told you.” At Zoro’s slight frown, Sanji raised his eyebrows. “You’ve forgotten already? At the bar, in the night club. When you asked me if I spoke Japanese.”

Zoro cast his mind back, somewhat reluctantly. He had no particular wish to retain the memories of the events in the club, but he did have a blurry recollection of the chef asking him for a translation of the sake bottle label. “Hm. You said that you spoke... Spanish... Italian... and French?”

Sanji picked up his coffee cup and saluted him with mock approval. “Correct. Fluent French, to be exact. As well as a smattering of Arabic, plus assorted cooking terms in anything from Mandarin to Latvian.”

Zoro picked up his own coffee and took a sip: narrowed his eyes slightly at the punch it packed. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

“You get all nationalities working in kitchens.” Sanji shrugged. “It’s easier to learn a few words in someone else’s language, than it is to remake a dish from scratch because they didn’t understand what they should have been doing.”

“And the French comes in useful, as well?” Zoro had a hazy notion that in the bizarre world of chefs, French anything was somehow regarded as superior. “Because of your work?”

“For sure. That was one advantage from growing up in France.” Sanji took another forkful of his dessert. “When some motherfucking cordon bleu sous chef has a hissy fit at me, I can give as good as I get.”

 

 

Another memory from New Year’s Eve surfaced in Zoro’s mind: Sanji sharing his childhood experiences, as they both sat together.

_\- It was hard fitting in anyway, having moved to this country from France as a kid, not speaking much English._

He looked at the chef. “I remember. You said you moved here when you were younger, from France. That you didn’t speak good English when you first got here.”

Sanji nodded. “I spoke enough to get by, but with a real strong accent. No-one here could understand a fucking word I was saying. Or that’s how they acted, anyway.”

“So how old were you when you left France?”

“I was nine or thereabouts when I got adopted by Zeff. I moved here with the shitty old geezer three months after that.” Sanji’s tone indicated that he didn’t mind answering the question, but with his next words he deftly turned the conversation around. “And how about you? You speak Japanese... but you don’t have an accent. Did you ever live there?”

“No. But we spoke it at home. At least, my uncle did; and his friends. At home Japanese, at school and on the street English. I guess I’ve pretty much always been bilingual.”

“Your uncle brought you up?” Sanji rested his folded arms on the table.

“Yeah. My father’s brother. I never knew my folks. No big deal, I was a baby when they died, I have zero memories of them.”

“So it was just you and your uncle? No aunt?”

“A few temporary ones.” Zoro smiled wryly. “When my uncle got the urge for female company. But mostly just the two of us. I lived with him till I was fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” Sanji reached for his coffee; took another sip. “And then what? Did you move to live somewhere else, with other family?”

 

 

Zoro had talked about this before. He’d gotten good at making it sound like an everyday experience. “I kind of did my own thing.”

Sanji gave a half-shake of his head. “Sorry, what?”

“I didn’t have any other family. So I lived on my own.”

“Wait. When you were fifteen?” Sanji blinked at him. “What happened to your uncle?”

“He went somewhere. Without leaving a forwarding address. Which probably had something to do with the fact that he owed a fuck of a lot of money in gambling debts, to the kind of people who don’t take IOUs.” Zoro shrugged. “Smart move, to disappear. I would’ve done the same, in his place.”

“Seriously?” Sanji was staring at him. “Your uncle just bailed on you? When you were _fifteen?”_ He gave another half-shake of his head. “Didn’t anyone notice you were left on your own?”

“I’d started kind of running off the rails about then anyway, not going to school a whole lot... I was hanging out at a stoner friend’s place for a few days, and when I finally showed up back home my uncle was gone and the landlord had changed the locks. As it turned out, my uncle hadn’t paid the rent on our apartment for a while either.”

 

 

Sanji regarded him with a frown. “So this friend you’d been staying with... How come you didn’t go back there?”

“I’d outstayed my welcome.” Zoro let a grin come onto his face. “You may find it hard to believe now, but back then I was a real annoying little fucker.”

“Yeah, that’s a shocker,” commented Sanji drily. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you were only fifteen. What the hell did you do?”

“Found places I could hang out. I managed okay. I was big enough that I could pass for older: that helped.”

 

 

Sanji was still frowning. Zoro was used to this kind of reaction, so he didn’t let it throw him; but they had already gone further into this territory than he had planned to share.

_What is it with him getting me talking?_

Well, the chef wasn’t the only one who could change the subject. “Going back to how your week has gone... Didn’t you say you were planning to ask your friend if she could help you out with your business idea? How did that go?”

As a diversionary tactic, it was successful: the frown on the chef’s face was replaced by a sunnier expression. “Nami? Oh yeah, it went okay. Good, even. She came over Friday evening and we took a look at my ideas. She didn’t write the whole thing off as a crazy plan, which I was half-expecting.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Why would she, if she’s your friend?”

Sanji laughed. “Because she’s an incredibly smart cookie who doesn’t hesitate to call things how she sees them.”

“And she knows what she’s talking about?”

“Totally. She set up on her own a few years back, after working in finance and website development for a while for different firms... Don’t ask me what exactly, all that stuff makes no sense to me. But she’s a whizz at it. Now she runs her own online travel agency business, organising customised tours for tourists visiting far-flung places. India, the South Pacific, Indonesia, Vietnam... All over. She gets a ton of work.”

 

 

Zoro nodded. “Sounds like a useful friend to have.”

Sanji’s gaze met his. “I’m not friends with Nami because she’s _useful_. I’m friends with her because she’s a wonderful person. Not to mention gorgeous. And she’s been there for me, for precisely every single day we’ve known each other.”

Zoro felt the slight crackle of fire in that reply. “Well, that’s good. To have friends like that.”

“Yeah. It is.” Sanji scooped up the last piece of his dessert with his fork, and slid it into his mouth.

“So what does she think, about your business idea?”

“She’s all for it.” Sanji smiled. “She’s given me homework. Like, a list of stuff to find out and do, to start making some headway on this. I was working on some of it today.”

“No time like the present,” commented Zoro.

“Mm. Though I have to admit, I’m a little daunted by how much there is to think about. I guess I’ll just have to tackle it a piece at a time.”

“That’s the only way to do anything.” Zoro shrugged. “Be in the moment: do what’s in front of you.”

“That’s deep. Have you thought of getting that printed on a bumper sticker?”

“Okay, smartass. Just because it’s a cliché, doesn’t make it less true.”

“I suppose.” Sanji folded his arms on the table. “I’ll get through it all, I guess. But I can already see one big glitch ahead: money. I have a nasty feeling that getting this up and running is going to take way more capital than I’ve got.”

“I guess that’s what bank loans are for.”

“I have zero collateral. I don’t think any bank is going to respond to me asking them for a stack of cash with anything more helpful than politely laughing in my face.”

Zoro regarded him. “So think of another way to raise the money.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Well, yeah. Most things are. But you want to do this, right? So figure out a way.”

Sanji returned his gaze. “Yeah. I will.” A slightly quizzical smile came onto his face. “And you’re right. I do want to do this. I don’t think I realised how much, till I really started looking into it. And that’s something I probably wouldn’t have done any time soon, except for that conversation we had on New Year’s Eve. So... thank you.”

 

 

There was nothing in the chef’s tone except sincerity. Zoro was slightly thrown by this. After a couple of seconds, he said, “If it helped... You’re welcome.”

“I think it did.” Sanji picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “Good timing, hearing the right thing at the right moment, maybe... I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Your philosophy made sense to me. _Makes_ sense to me, right now.”

“I have a philosophy?” Zoro raised an eyebrow.

Sanji gave him a look. “What you said. If there’s something you really want, it’s worth taking a chance on trying to make it happen. However difficult it might seem to reach it.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Zoro did remember saying that, now. Or words to that effect.

“So. I’m chasing my dream.” Sanji lifted his coffee cup in a toast. “Here’s to my as-yet-unnamed but gloriously successful solo venture. How about you?”

“What about me?”

“What dream are you chasing? What’s your goal, in life?” Sanji gazed at him.

 

 

Zoro didn’t reply straight away. He wasn’t used to people wanting to know these things about him. After a moment, he gave his answer. “To be better than I am now.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s everything.” Zoro returned the chef’s gaze, levelly. “Accept that I’m not the best, but have the will to strive to change that.”

“Are we talking Kendo here, or life in general?”

Zoro shook his head. “It’s all the same thing.”

Sanji regarded him for a few moments longer. Then set his cup gently down on the table. “Interesting.”

 

 

Zoro had no idea if by _interesting_ Sanji meant _intriguing,_ or merely _weird._ He hoped it was the former. He picked up his own coffee cup and took a mouthful: the bitter taste of grounds hit his tongue and he grimaced and set it down. “Urgh.”

“Yeah, the idea is to stop before that last mouthful,” Sanji pointed out, smirking.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Shall we get the check?” Sanji brushed a few crumbs of baklava off his front, before looking over towards the counter. “It’s getting late.”

Zoro looked round too. “...I guess so.”

 

 

He watched Sanji signal with an uplifted finger to Rachid. And was sure, suddenly, that there was no way he wanted the evening to end there. “Do you want to go on for a drink somewhere?”

Sanji turned back to him. A slow smile curved his lips. “As it happens... You left your bottle of whiskey at my place. So, we could just head back there.”

Warmth began to expand in the pit of Zoro’s stomach. He let himself give an equally slow smile in return. “That sounds like a great idea.”

 

 

A footstep made them both look up: Karim stopping beside the table, laying down the check and giving them a nod and a smile. “You have enjoyed your meal?”

“Everything was delicious.” Sanji gave his friend a grin. “As always, Karim.”

Karim looked pleased, but gave Zoro a questioning look.

“It was great. Thank you.” Zoro meant it.

Karim wagged a finger at him. “Next time you come here, you let me choose your food again, hey? I know what my customers like!”

“It’s a deal.” Zoro grinned too.

 

 

Once they had paid the check, Karim saw them to the door; then they were outside in the cool air of the street. As they walked away, Zoro glanced up at the restaurant sign. “I forgot to ask Karim about that.”

“What?”

“The name, of his place. What it means.”

“ _Shajarat Al'Arz?”_ Sanji was tucking a scarf round his neck and into his coat. “It means ‘The Cedar Tree’. As in, the cedar of Lebanon. It’s what they have on their flag. Karim told me that for him, it’s a symbol of hope, peace and freedom.”

“Hmm.” Zoro gave the sign a final look, before they walked away.

 

 

Once back on the main thoroughfare, Sanji headed purposefully down the street. “We can catch a bus back to my place, just down the block a ways.”

“Fine.” Zoro fell into step beside him.

Sanji’s shoulders drew up: he had his hands buried in his pockets. “Rrrrr... Man, that’s wind’s like a knife.” He glanced at the other man. “Don’t you feel the cold, even a little bit?”

Preoccupied already with thoughts about what was – hopefully – going to happen once they got back to the chef’s apartment, Zoro hadn’t even noticed the chill. “It’s not so bad.”

“It is _midwinter_.” Sanji gave a half-shake of his head. “You must have antifreeze for blood.”

Having just eaten a large meal, Zoro felt pretty warm internally. For sure there was a nip in the breeze that moved against his face, but it didn’t bother him. “Some of us are built to live through winter in the northern hemisphere. Are you gonna survive till we catch the bus?”

Sanji narrowed his eyes. “I can handle it, moss head. Don’t worry about me.”

 

 

When they reached the bus stop, they had to wait a little while for their ride. Sanji fidgeted a little, pacing a few steps back and forth to keep warm. Eventually he took out a cigarette. Zoro looked at him. “Why bother? They won’t let you smoke it on the bus.”

“I am fully aware of that, and give exactly not one fuck.” Sanji lit up. “Carpe diem.”

“How come you smoke so much?” It didn’t actually bother Zoro, but it felt like a good way to ruffle the chef’s feathers... Which he was aware he was getting a kick from.

Sanji allowed an elegant stream of smoke to escape from his parted lips, before replying. “Because I like it.”

“You ever tried quitting?”

“What is this, an intervention? Are you going to tell me how much better my life could be if I invited Jesus in?”

Zoro laughed. “Yeah, but I was planning to save that announcement as a surprise for later on.”

“That better be irony.” Sanji lifted one spiralled brow.

 

 

Zoro folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t believe in God.”

“Remind me not to stand next to you in a thunderstorm.” Sanji smiled. “Any particular reason why not?”

“Things happen in this world that are way too fucked-up for some kind of cosmic overseer to be behind it all.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Sanji tapped ash from the end of his cigarette. “What about the good stuff that happens?”

“That’s usually a result of good people doing something. Like fucked-up stuff is a result of bad people doing something.”

“ ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ ” Sanji said this quietly.

“Well, yeah. I don’t see any evidence for God getting involved, personally.”

Sanji shrugged. “It’s a popular notion.”

 

 

Zoro thought for a moment. “Each to their own. I just never saw the point. Plus, me being gay doesn’t exactly have the faithful queuing up to embrace me into their midst.”

“Would you want them to?”

“I don’t give a fuck. But I do care that a bunch of them use their religion as a soapbox to preach the desirability of my non-existence.”

“Mm.” Sanji nodded. “On that point I’m in perfect agreement.”

“I’ve never let what shit people think about me stop me from being who I am. But it never fails to piss me off.” Zoro gestured at the sidewalk stretching away from them, which at this point had a few passers-by walking along. “If you were a woman and we held hands at this bus stop - ”

“How come _I’d _ be the woman, craphead?”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If one of us was a woman and we were holding hands, no-one would bat an eyelid. But if you and me do it, chances are within five minutes some fuckwit would be either getting in our faces or yelling something obnoxious as he drove past.”

Sanji grinned at him. “You want to hold hands with me? That’s cool. Okay.”

 

 

Zoro sputtered to a halt in mid-rant, his brain slightly short-circuited by this. After a second, he managed, “What?”

The chef took a last pull on his cigarette, before flicking it away into the gutter. Then he took a step towards the other man. “I like holding hands. In public or otherwise.” He held his hand out, reaching for Zoro’s. “Let’s do it.”

Zoro hesitated: at this, he saw Sanji’s grin broaden, provocatively. The chef wiggled his fingers at him. “C’mon, moss head. Scared?”

That was enough to remove any hesitation. “Like fuck.” Zoro reached out and clasped the chef’s hand. He felt Sanji’s fingers slightly cool against his skin: the grip as strong as his own. And felt too a kick of adrenalin and pure need bloom in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

There was a small pause, where the street went on existing. At last Sanji said, “Looks like the fuckwit quotient in this part of town is lower than average.”

Zoro was so occupied by the sensation of the chef’s thumb stroking gently against his own, that he almost forgot to answer. “...Good.”

“Yeah. It is, isn’t it.” Sanji’s hand shifted in his, the fingers spreading and then interlinking between his own.

Zoro felt the press of their forearms, the closeness of the other man. He could smell him too: cigarette smoke and coffee and something like sandalwood; spicy, bittersweet.

 

 

And then Sanji was releasing him, stepping forward a little, turning to face up the street. “Huh. Here’s the bus.”

Zoro turned to face the approaching vehicle too, feeling his pulse racing and warmth spreading across his face. He found his hand clenching, empty. That brief contact, of skin against skin, nowhere near enough.

The bus came to a halt beside them and the door clunked open: both men stepped inside. As it pulled away Sanji walked down the centre aisle and dropped into a seat halfway along, Zoro sliding in beside him. He felt his thigh settle against the chef’s; the firm press of muscle through those really unfairly tight jeans. Letting out a slow breath, he turned his head just a little sideways. Let his gaze find Sanji’s face.

The chef’s eyes met his and that insinuating slow smile appeared again. Zoro felt just the slightest increase in pressure from the long lean thigh touching his own. He returned the pressure with interest. Sanji held his gaze for a few seconds longer... Before turning his head to look straight ahead, still wearing that smile.

Zoro spent most of the rest of the journey focussing on his breathing.

 

 

 

 

When they reached their stop and alighted, both men headed down the sidewalk to Sanji’s apartment at a pace that was just shy of hurried. Zoro found himself clenching his hands in his coat pockets as Sanji unlocked the communal entrance off the street; the two of them climbing the stairs in swift silence; Sanji opening his apartment door and walking inside, straight through to the main room, Zoro following behind.

Sanji dropped his bag on the floor by the couch and began unfastening his coat. “Do you want - ”

Zoro had already dropped his own gym bag. Stepping up to the chef he grasped Sanji’s right hand, tugging him closer; his other hand reached for the chef’s waist, pulling him against his own body as he brought their mouths together. He felt Sanji go still, just for a half-second: then the chef responded to the kiss with enthusiasm.

_At fucking last._

Good as the food and conversation they’d shared had been, for the last couple of hours this was what Zoro had wanted. In fact, since the moment they’d first traded strikes in the practice room. Every annoying smartass remark and sardonic lift of that spiralled brow; the agile power of those blurring kicks. Every time Zoro pushed, the chef pushing back. Not giving ground. Giving as good as he got.

 

 

Sanji tasted of cigarettes. Of cold night air. Of heat. Sanji’s mouth opened to his own, and Zoro slid his hand round to the small of the chef’s back. The two of them were leaning up against each other, Sanji’s hands suddenly cool on his skin as they cupped around his neck. The kiss felt unbelievably good and Zoro could quite happily have enjoyed it for some considerable time, but after a few more seconds Sanji pulled his head back and their lips broke apart. And then they were looking at each other, hands still anchored on each other’s bodies.

Sanji spoke first. “So... I’m thinking, maybe skip the whole drinks thing?”

Zoro allowed a sly grin come onto his face. “You catch on fast.”

Sanji let out a laugh. “Can I at least take my coat off?”

“Whatever.” Zoro undermined this by going in for a kiss again. It lasted almost as long as the first, but once again Sanji was the first to pull back.

“Hahh... Slow down, moss head.”

“Stop interrupting, cook.” Zoro bent his head forward and fastened his mouth on the chef’s neck. This time Sanji let out a hissing breath between his teeth... Before firmly removing Zoro’s hand from his back.

“First things first.” Sanji gave his right hand a slight shake, also disengaging that from Zoro’s grip, before unwinding the scarf from round his neck. Then he slid off his coat, while toeing off his shoes. His gaze found Zoro still standing motionless, watching him; one corner of the chef’s mouth quirked up. “You need some help?”

 

 

Zoro pulled off his own coat, then moved to the nearby couch to sit down and rapidly take off his shoes. As he finished Sanji’s outstretched hand came into his vision, held out towards him. He looked up and the chef was smiling down at him.

Zoro closed his fingers around Sanji’s. It was tempting to try to pull the chef down onto the couch, but instead he stood up, using his momentum to draw the other man to him again. And this was evidently what the chef wanted: he felt Sanji’s weight shift, and then, _Oh fuck,_ the chef’s thigh sliding between his own as their mouths met again. Zoro leaned into it, bringing their hips together, reaching round Sanji’s back again and tugging him closer. Returning his mouth to the chef’s neck, travelling his way up from collarbone to pulse point.

He felt hands grip his shoulders; one slide round to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. Then Sanji’s breath warm on his cheek. The chef’s mouth brushing against the skin where neck and jaw met, pressing a kiss there. Followed by words ghosting into his ear, on a breath. “You know, all evening... I’ve been thinking about just how much I want to fuck you.”

 

 

The words went through Zoro and down to his toes like lightning running to earth. He shut his eyes briefly, clenching his hands on the other man’s back. He felt Sanji’s lips move against his cheek, forming a smile; then come close to his ear, to murmur again. “Sound good?”

For an answer Zoro twisted his head to find the chef’s mouth, kissing him again. And when they broke the kiss, he met the other man’s gaze with a smile of his own. “Surprised you held out this long, love cook.”

Sanji let out a soft snort. “Well, I did get _some_ satisfaction from kicking your ass earlier on... But not as much as I’m gonna get from - ”

Zoro cut that comment off by the simple method of kissing the chef again, forcefully. And speaking as soon as the kiss ended. “Savour the memory, curly brow, because it’s never happening again.”

“Ha... Is that so?” Sanji smirked. “We’ll see.” He laid his hand over Zoro’s, disengaging it from his back. Stepping a little away, he kept hold of the other man’s hand: Zoro felt a steady pull on his fingers. “Meantime....”

 

 

Zoro let out a slow breath. Let the grip on his hand draw him forwards, a step at a time. And then Sanji turned, hand still holding his, and walked across the main room to the doorway. Zoro felt his fingers clench around the chef’s, his steps quicken so that he was right behind the other man as they reached the bedroom. Watching the way Sanji’s ass shaped those jeans and wanting to cup his hand right there and feel him move. Hearing that murmur echoing round his head.

_\- I’ve been thinking about how much I want to fuck you_

 

 

They were beside the bed now and Sanji leaned down, reaching out with his other hand to flick on the lamp. As he straightened up Zoro stepped in behind him, winding one arm right around his waist, against his ribs, drawing him in close. Pressing hard up against that tight ass. Letting his other hand come round too but lower, dropping below the chef’s belt.

_Oh yeah._

Zoro tightened his arm around Sanji’s waist. Let his cupped fingers lower down give a slow squeeze. Pressed himself against the other man, his face finding the back of Sanji’s neck. Breathed in his smell, that blend of cigarette smoke and sandalwood again, and something else rising through it now, something darker and warmer and connecting straight to his centre.

_I. Want. You._

 

 

The chef _humm-ed_ a soft sound of pleasure, making no effort to pull free. In fact, after a moment Zoro felt the other man lean back slightly with his hips, pressing them tighter together. Zoro bent his head sideways a little and began kissing at Sanji’s neck.

_Fuck, he even tastes good._

Sanji’s skin was warm and clean and slightly salty. His head tilted away as Zoro’s tongue roamed. Zoro felt the chef’s ribs expand under his arm as the other man breathed in; Sanji’s arousal under his fingers.

And then with another breath the chef’s hand came up and took hold of his own, moving it away. Before Sanji turned to face him. “I want to look at you.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t get enough of a look at me while we were sitting at a table this evening?”

“Not nearly enough.” Sanji reached out and gripped the front of Zoro’s shirt: pulled it slowly upwards. “And while I have an excellent imagination, this is a lot more satisfying.”

 

 

Zoro felt his shirt slide free of his pants, and half a second later Sanji’s fingers insinuate their way onto his skin. His stomach muscles clenched slightly. Holding himself still, he let the fingers drift along his sides... Then withdraw. He found his gaze flicking up to meet the other man’s: Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Ah... Still in a hurry?”

 

 

Zoro clenched his jaw. Forced himself to keep his hands by his sides, eyes holding the other man’s gaze. After a few seconds of silence, one corner of Sanji’s mouth lifted approvingly. “Anticipation can transform a dish... From a meal into a feast.” He raised his hands again to the front of Zoro’s shirt. Starting at the bottom, his fingers slowly slipped a button free. “Anticipation sharpens the appetite.” The next button up: teased open. “The scents. The sounds. The sight of the meal to come. You can almost taste it on your tongue. And that makes you all the hungrier. Because you know, soon, you’re going to enjoy it. Every mouthful.”

Zoro felt heat coming into his cheeks, as his shirt was gradually opened. Stayed still as the chef’s cool fingers slid along his collarbones; as they eased under the cloth and slipped the shirt off his shoulders.

“Mhmm...” Sanji made a sound of appreciation. Then bent his head forwards and placed a kiss, feather-light, on Zoro’s left shoulder. The slight touch zinged through Zoro’s skin: he pulled a breath in, his eyes half-shutting. Felt the chef’s mouth track up to his neck and fasten on, tongue and lips and teeth. Those cool steady fingers continuing to slide the shirt down his arms, over his hands, letting it fall to the floor.

 

 

Zoro found his hands clenching into fists. Opened them and reached out, finding the other man’s hips and latching on. Turned his head and bent it down, pushing the chef’s back a little so he could capture Sanji’s mouth with his own. Kissing him again, as hard and as deep as he could.

Sanji’s hands came up round the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. Zoro let his own hands travel, curling round to hold the firm shape of Sanji’s ass. Pressing their hips together, grinding his own rising hard-on against the answering excitement he could feel from the chef.

Then once again, Sanji pulled back. Broke the kiss and used his grip on Zoro’s shoulders to push them a little apart. Looking straight at Zoro with one sea blue eye, the other obscured by the fringe of hair falling across it. That sly smile back on his face. “Getting hungry?”

 

 

Zoro let out a short breath. His hands had slid free when Sanji pushed them apart. His fingers twitched now, wanting to grab. He made them relax: hold still.

One of Sanji’s hands released: the other drifted down from Zoro’s shoulder, along his arm. Reached his hand and closed around it, then tugged it forwards. Sanji took a step towards the bed, bringing the other man with him. Then they were on the bed, somehow gone from standing to lying across the covers wrapped round each other and kissing again, the chef on top and Zoro’s arms folded around him, pulling them close together.

Zoro felt Sanji’s tongue enter his mouth and press against his own. The brush of the chef’s hair against his face. His fingertips rested on the warm softness of the sweater Sanji was wearing, and he wanted that gone. Wanted skin against skin. He slid his hands down and found the sweater’s edge, began pulling it up. Sanji broke their kiss and pushed himself upright, kneeling with one leg either side of Zoro’s: put his own hands over the other man’s and helped him peel the sweater off and over his head, before dropping it smoothly over the edge of the bed. Then the chef leaned down with his hands braced either side of Zoro’s head, returning to the kiss.

_More. I want more._

Zoro found the chef’s sides with his hands: let his fingers trail down those lean ribs; his thumbs sketching over the geometry of muscles. Finding and following the start of the V slanting inward from the hips. Stroking along the skin, exploring the other man’s body, using his fingers to see. Feeling heat filling the pit of his stomach at every touch, spilling through him.

 

 

Sanji shifted, lifting his face away; knelt back a little, still straddling Zoro’s thigh. Zoro heard the slightly unsteady catch of his breath. And then the chef was bending forwards again, but this time Sanji’s mouth moved lower: sought out Zoro’s left nipple and fastened on it, tonguing, circling, followed by just the slightest nip of teeth. And his hand travelling down simultaneously, fingertips dragging across Zoro’s chest.

Zoro couldn’t stop the jolt that ran through him, or the sound that came out.

“Mmhh - ”

Every nerve ending in the skin of his chest went alight. At once he felt Sanji’s head lift away, and then the other man was looking at him, a slight frown of doubt etched on his face. “Shit... Not good?” And the chef’s eyes flicked downwards.

To the scar.

 

 

Zoro breathed in. “No... S’okay.”

Sanji didn’t look convinced. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Zoro gave a firm shake of his head. He could still feel the aftershock of the chef’s touch on his skin.

Sanji regarded him, no longer frowning but looking thoughtful. “That isn’t just machismo talking?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “I strike you as being big on the macho bullshit?”

“Well, since you bring it up...” Zoro brought his hand up in a swift movement to the chef’s ribs: Sanji blocked the blow with his elbow. “Okay, okay.” His eyes remained on Zoro’s face. “Just checking. I don’t like hurting people.”

“I told you: it doesn’t hurt.” Zoro wanted to move this along.

“It just felt like you were about to jump off the bed, when I touched you... there.”

 _On the scar. Just say it._ “It’s kind of sensitive along the scar, sometimes. Lot of nerve endings firing there, I guess.” Zoro let a grin come onto his face. “Not such a bad thing, in the right situation.”

Sanji’s own eyebrow lifted. “You’re telling me it’s like some big erogenous zone? Fuck.” He gave a half-shake of his head. “And I thought _I_ had some weird kinks.”

Zoro felt the tension lifting. “Feel free to share.”

An answering grin came onto the chef’s face. “All in good time.” He let his hand move back to Zoro’s chest: his fingertips rest, barely touching, on the skin of his left shoulder. About an inch above where the scar began. His eyes stayed on Zoro’s. Asking permission.

Zoro met the blue gaze.

 

 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sanji’s fingers moved downwards. Following a diagonal line. Zoro felt them pass over his heart. Sanji still watching his face, intent.

 

 

_What are you thinking, cook?_

 

All the dumb and unoriginal and ugly things he’d ever heard, from people seeing that scar, fought to come into Zoro’s head. He shoved them back into the shadows.

 

 

_Don’t stop touching me._

 

 

The slow cool brush of fingertips reached his hip. Where they halted. And Zoro released the breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

Sanji was still looking at him.

 

 

There was a long pause. Then Sanji said, quietly, “Still okay?”

“Shit, yeah...” Zoro could feel, like ripples spreading out on water, the sensation of the chef’s fingers where they’d run over his skin. “I’m good.”

Sanji studied his face a moment longer, evidently checking the truth of this... Then gave a slow smile. Before bending forwards again and lowering his head towards Zoro’s body.

 

 

_...Fuck. Yes._

 

 

Zoro shut his eyes as he felt Sanji’s mouth close around his nipple again: teeth bite gently. Tongue work its way round the sensitive flesh. And the slow drift across his chest to the opposite side; pausing over his heart, over his scar, to lay a kiss there.

Time stretched out. Zoro let himself go, eyes closed. Followed only the sensations where the other man touched him, where Sanji’s mouth and fingers moved. Aware at some level, far down, that he didn’t do this. Hadn’t done this, for a long time. Let himself be not in control.

_I want this._

He felt Sanji’s fingers slide under the waist of his pants.

_I want this._

Repeating it in his head, he knew. How much he wanted it. And as he thought this, his hips lifted slightly, pushing against the chef. Telling him how much he wanted it.

 

 

Sanji’s fingers curled; moved. Zoro felt his belt, his pants, unfastened. Tugged gently downwards. His own hands lifted, moving to Sanji’s waist, but he felt them gripped. Opened his eyes.

Sanji was smiling down at him. “One thing at a time.” His fingers lifted Zoro’s hands away. Moved back to the other man’s pants, tugged again at them.

Letting out a _huff_ of impatience, Zoro let his hands fall. Lifted his weight onto his shoulders and feet, arching his hips off the bed. Felt his pants being drawn down; pulled free. Then Sanji coming back close, kneeling either side of Zoro’s leg, his head bending down and that warm mouth fastening onto Zoro’s body again.

_Oh fuck yes_

 

 

Zoro barely had time to clench one hand on the covers before the chef went down on him. And everything went blurred.

A hand stroked up the inside of his thigh; lifted it. Tracked gradually downwards. He felt it caress around the base of his cock; fingers grip, a slow squeeze. The warm wet press of Sanji’s tongue drawing up the underside, circling the head. Lips parting, then taking him in.

“Mhh...” Zoro’s hips lifted upwards again. He felt Sanji open to him, taking him in deeper; then the cook slid his lips back up to the head. Ran his tongue around it, stroking his fingers in a steady rhythm.

“Hhh... _Uhhh_...”

Zoro felt his head arching backwards. The chef’s hand suddenly found his, where it lay on the bed: fingers pressed his own apart, interlinked. Clasped his hand tightly, pressing it down into covers. And Zoro gripped it back, breathing hard.

It was almost too much. Even though it was what he wanted. That heat and the raw wanting he felt in the pit of his stomach, Sanji’s mouth and hands fuelling the fire. Wanting to feel the chef on him. In him. Wanting to feel him come.

 

 

When the hand holding his eventually let go, Zoro opened his eyes. Sanji moved upwards, propping himself forward on one arm, leaning his head down to Zoro’s. Kissed him, lingeringly; while one of Sanji’s hands went to his own waist and began unbuckling his belt. Zoro reached up and thrust one hand into Sanji’s hair, curling his fingers round the back of the chef’s skull. Pulling him in closer, lips almost bruising.

Sanji let the kiss last for a few moments – then pulled back, shaking his head free. Rose and stood beside the bed, briefly; slid his thumbs into the top of his jeans and shimmied them off his hips and down his legs. A quick pause to kick them free, then he turned back to the bed.

Zoro had propped himself up on one elbow, to enjoy the view. Sanji eyed him. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

Zoro let out a huff of laughter. “Yeah? Give me a sec, left my phone in my coat pocket - ” And he started to get up from the bed.

“Asshole!” Sanji blocked him, placing one knee on the bed before straddling his thigh and bearing him back down, placing his hands on the bed either side of Zoro’s head. Fastening his mouth onto the other man’s. He paused the kiss just long enough to say, “Like fuck am I letting you take naked photos of me. Are you big into sexting or something?”

Zoro grinned up at the chef. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

 

Sanji didn’t respond to that one, choosing instead to return to kissing. Which suited Zoro just fine. Especially as Sanji followed this by lowering his body against Zoro, pressing their hips together and then moving just exactly fucking right so that their hard-ons slid against each other.

_Fuck, love cook. Do that some more._

Zoro kept his eyes open, watching the chef’s face as the other man broke the kiss and lifted his head up a little. As Sanji moved his hips again. And again. The way Sanji’s lips parted slightly, a slight flush creeping across his cheekbones. The slow forceful exhalation he gave as he moved.

Zoro moved his arm between them, reaching down to their cocks and wrapping his hand around them. Began stroking back and forth. He heard Sanji let out an indistinct sound: then the chef bent his head down and locked lips with him again.

 

 

They stayed that way for a while, hips moving slowly. Then Sanji lifted his mouth away and knelt up on the bed, breaking that delicious contact, and Zoro found himself groaning in protest. At that the chef smiled, kneeling over him. “Mhmm...” His voice was a low purr. “Want to be inside you.”

Zoro let out a hard breath. “Then quit talking about it and do it, idiot cook.”

Sanji’s smile grew... Before he leaned over to the nightstand and opened its drawer, taking out what he needed. Zoro watched him squeeze some lube onto his fingers, taking his time. Rubbing them slowly together as if making sure it was warmed. Which was, well, considerate, Zoro supposed, but frankly at this point he didn’t give a shit about minor details like that. He wanted to feel the chef in him right fucking _now_.

 

 

Sanji shifted on the bed, one hand gently moving Zoro’s thigh before reaching to grip his cock and stroke it, his blue gaze holding the other man’s. And Zoro felt the chef’s finger tease at his entrance, moving back and forth as if in rhythm with the hand on his cock. He found his teeth gritting together and breathed deliberately slowly, willing Sanji to quit hovering and just –

 _ Fuck _ _._

Sanji slid a finger into him, smooth and slow. Zoro’s eyes shut and he was centred on the feel at his core, the burn and the wanting and the chef’s grip still sliding up and down his cock and that long slender finger moving inside him.

There was a slight pause; then a kiss pressed against the muscles of his stomach. Zoro opened his eyes and Sanji was looking at him. Watching him. His hand still moving.

And then another finger slipping inside, joining the first.

 

 

Zoro breathed into it. Willed himself to relax, to feel not just the fingers spreading him but Sanji’s hand caressing his cock, thumb reaching the head and rubbing across the slit, sliding across the pre-cum already there.

Then the cook curled his fingers and pressed in where it mattered and Zoro couldn’t stop a groan escaping him for a second time.

The fingers slid out a little... Then back in. Finding that place in him, again. And Sanji’s mouth was moving across his stomach, tracing along the line of his abs with his tongue and Zoro let his head fall back and gave himself over to this, to every single sensation. Letting go.

 

 

He didn’t know how much time passed. But at some point he felt Sanji’s fingers leave him and the bed shift as the chef moved, sliding up his body and finding his mouth with his own.

“Want. You.” In between kisses.

A pause, just for a moment, while Sanji got the condom, rolling it on and grabbing the lube with an urgency that suggested he was as eager to cut to the chase now as Zoro was, despite drawing things out up to this point. Zoro spread his thighs and felt Sanji’s hand drop down to his hip, lifting a little; then the chef was pressing against him. Into him. Slow.

 

 

Zoro felt an unsteady breath escape him. The sensation of resistance and yielding and heat and wanting. Feeling his muscles tighten and sending them impatient messages to relax. Focussing everything in himself to release. And Sanji moving, still slow, pausing: holding himself braced on his arms and gazing down at Zoro with his lips slightly parted and a flush across his face.

Zoro let his leg hook around Sanji’s thigh: used it to draw the chef towards him. Sanji breathed out hard, pressing in to his full length. Then he was bending his head down, finding Zoro’s mouth with his own and kissing him.

_Flexible... Oh yeah._

Zoro let the kissing continue for a while. Feeling himself opening up. Their mouths slick on each other. The soft tug of teeth against his lip, Sanji’s tongue sliding over his own. Then the chef murmuring, “...Okay?”

“Yeah. Good.” _Fuck me._

 

 

Sanji pushed himself up a little, bracing his hands against the bed. Zoro felt the shift as the chef pulled out a little. Deliberately slowly. And then, watching Zoro’s face, thrust back in.

 

 

Zoro heard himself let out a moan. Which would have been embarrassing, except he was too busy enjoying the incandescent feeling of Sanji’s cock hitting his prostate to worry about it. And judging by the look that Sanji got on his face, the chef found the sound an encouraging one. He rolled his hips, repeating the action.

_Right. Fucking. There._

As the chef got into a rhythm, Zoro met it. His legs hooked around the other man’s, hands going up to grip that lean waist, pulling him in. Wanted to feel it harder, deeper, _more._ Sanji bent his head down again, keeping that rhythm and pushing Zoro’s mouth open with his own, so that it felt like he was fucking Zoro with his tongue as well as his cock. Sweat wetting the press of their skin; the chef’s body rubbing against Zoro’s cock as they moved together, friction mingling with the building bliss of Sanji thrusting inside him.

 

 

He was there, with Sanji, in the warm half-light. Hearing the sound of his own breathing; feeling his fingers clenching on warm skin. And when he closed his eyes images blurred into one another: Sanji leaning against the restaurant counter, smiling at Rachid. Rising up onto his hands on the gym mat, twisting his hips swiftly round. Smiling on the dark street, that shitty provoking _Dare you, fuckhead_ grin before taking hold of Zoro’s hand. And then Zoro opened his eyes because he wanted to see Sanji, watch him moving and feel him and hear him, every single fucking moment.

 

 

Sanji made a sound that was rendered incomprehensible by the fact that his tongue was still in Zoro’s mouth. Then his head lifted a little, his rhythm slowing slightly, before he took a breath. “Nnhn... Uhh.” He caught his lower lip between his teeth.

_Fuck -_

Zoro stared up at the chef’s flushed face, feeling whatever small part of his brain was still marginally functioning go into meltdown at the sight.

Sanji shut his eyes, apparently concentrating. Then opened them again and gazed downwards. Releasing his lip, he said succinctly, “Getting... close.”

Zoro nodded, signalling agreement, encouragement, consent.

 

 

Sanji straightened his arms, as if bracing himself. Then shifted his weight, just a little onto his left arm... before reaching down with his other hand and wrapping his fingers round Zoro’s cock. Began to stroke it hard, at the same time as his hips lifted away then rolled back. Driving home. Falling back into the rhythm, growing more urgent as their breathing began to speed up too.

Zoro let the last part of himself go. Moved as hard as he could against Sanji’s body, feeling the heat build in his stomach and that peak coming closer and he wanted it, wanted to feel the chef come. But he wanted this not to end. His head was filling up with white noise and fuck he could hardly feel his fingers his hands were tingling he wanted

_Oh fuck  Harder_

wasn’t sure he said this out loud because his lips were numb but Sanji was thrusting deep and there were sounds blurring with the beat of his heart, _Fuck_ and _Zoro_ and then that white heat jolt and he was coming hard his fingers digging into Sanji’s hips his head falling back lost gone. Just enough there to feel Sanji thrust hard one last time then shiver as his own climax hit. The two of them holding that dissolution, bodies shuddering against it. All the breath in Zoro’s body leaving him. And then another burst of heat sweeping through, rocking him, unmooring him completely.

 

 

It took a while to come back. To the weight of Sanji’s body resting above his own; the chef’s head fallen against his shoulder. Breathing slowing down, in unison.

Sanji’s head stirred; lifted. His gaze focussed on Zoro’s, a smile spreading on his face. “Mhmm...” He bent his head forward and found Zoro’s mouth with his own, leaning into the kiss. Zoro’s hands, which were only just starting to feel like his own again, held lightly onto Sanji’s waist.

After a few moments, Sanji drew his head back up. Still smiling. “...Don’t want to move.”

Zoro found himself smiling too. “No hurry.”

Sanji released a small pleasurable sigh. “Okay...” He let his head fall back against Zoro’s shoulder.

 

 

They lay like that for a little while longer. At last Sanji spoke again, his voice slightly muffled by his mouth being pressed against Zoro’s skin. “F’I stay like this any longer m’gonna fall asleep.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

“Mnhh.” Sanji pushed himself up a little on his elbows. “Wanna clean up first.”

“Mm... Yeah.” Zoro supposed that might be a good idea, although right now there was such a intensity of feeling good sweeping through him that he didn’t want to do anything that might interrupt it.

Sanji looked down at him; delivered one more kiss swiftly against Zoro’s mouth, before getting up off the bed.

 

 

Once Zoro returned from his own trip to the bathroom, Sanji was lying on his back under the bedcovers, gazing up at the ceiling. As Zoro slid in beside him the chef reached for the lamp, clicking the room into darkness. Zoro lay on his side, extending his arm so that it stretched across the other man’s body: let his fingers curl round to rest against Sanji's ribs. He heard and felt the chef let out a slow sigh of contentment. There was a moment or two of quiet. Then Sanji’s voice came softly through the darkness. “This... has been a good day.”

Zoro had no argument with that. Feeling the shape of Sanji’s body fitting against his own. The warmth as they lay together, under the covers.

There was a small rustle as Sanji turned his head on the pillow, evidently towards him. “You fallen asleep already?”

“...No.” Zoro let his thumb stroke gently against the chef’s ribs. “Just thinking.”

“About anything in particular?”

Zoro smiled in the darkness. “That this has been a good day.”

 

 

He felt Sanji’s hand come up and rest over his own. Then they were both still. Although his mind was full, even as he drifted down towards sleep. One thought following after another.

 

 

_New territory._

 

 

This meeting not just of bodies but of everything. Lying in bed next to the chef for only the second time, he felt like there was no other place he could be. He liked Sanji and he wanted him and it felt like maybe he could very quickly start to need him.

_Which could be a bad thing but who the fuck cares._

Doing bad things was something he’d got a proven track record of, after all. And with the chef’s hand resting on his own and his body still riding the glow of that fucking blissful high, he was more than prepared to risk it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a few words and phrases in other languages in this chapter, hope no-one minds. My family has lived in Iraq, Lebanon and France and I love words from all languages... Anyway, translations are as follows:
> 
> Lebanese (Arabic):  
> Ahlan = Welcome (literally "you've come to stay with family" ; Ahlan biik = reply to "Welcome" (literally "family with you")  
> insha’Allah = God willing  
> Bil hana = Enjoy your meal; Yeslamo = thank you
> 
> French:  
> Merci = thank you; De rien = you're welcome / no worries  
> Tu ne parles pas français? = You don't speak French?
> 
> And "Santé" = cheers (French); "Kanpai" = cheers (Japanese)
> 
> Zoro saying he accepts that he's not the best but has the will to strive to change that is of course Eiichiro Oda's writing, not mine. I just couldn't not use it, because it's almost my all-time favourite thing that Zoro says.
> 
> Last but not least, sorry this chapter has been a little while appearing. Current global events have gotten me down somewhat: the world's fuckwit quotient apparently being depressingly high right now. Immersing myself in the story of two people getting on with the business of starting to love each other felt like a good antidote though.


	5. Lift Off Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro’s gaze shifted to Sanji. “Your old man... You see much of him?”
> 
> “Zeff? As little as fucking possible.” Sanji folded his arms across his chest. “That crappy old geezer is bad for my blood pressure.”
> 
> “You don’t get on with him?”
> 
> “Zeff doesn’t get on with the entire world. Me included, I don’t get special privileges.” Sanji reached for his cigarettes. “He has two settings: basic obnoxious, and borderline psychotic. Which isn’t unusual for a chef.”
> 
> “You including yourself in that description?”
> 
> “I may occasionally get testy in the kitchen. Not as bad as him, though.”
> 
> “He ever hit a customer?” Zoro grinned.

* * *

 

_Know that while you sleep_  
_Everything has changed_  
_So lift off love_  
_Lift off love_

_-_ Elbow

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sanji drifted up from a warm dark comfortable place. Opened his eyes.

Zoro’s face rested on the other pillow, close by his own. Eyes still shut in sleep, one hand curled on the bed between them.

Sanji smiled.

 

 

The bedroom was half-illuminated, daylight coming through the curtains. He wondered what time it was, then let the thought go.

_Who cares. Got nowhere to be except right here._

He shifted slightly on his side, stretching out his legs, luxuriating in the feeling of relaxation. The movement was a small one, but enough for Zoro to feel it: the other man’s brows pulled together slightly before his arm lifted and reached across Sanji’s body, draping round his waist. Sanji felt Zoro’s hand settle against his skin with a deepening feeling of contentment. He let his own hand come up and lay over Zoro’s fingers, stroking them. He saw Zoro’s eyelids crease, then the other man opened his eyes and looked at him. “...Mhh...”

Sanji saw Zoro’s gaze come into focus, and smiled again. “Morning.”

Zoro gave a slow answering smile in return. “...Morning.” Sanji felt the hand on his side move slightly, fingers curling round his ribs. “Hm... What time’s it?”

“Don’t know... Just woke up myself.” Sanji thought about rolling over to look at the clock on his nightstand, but decided he was too comfortable right where he was. “Not early, guessing by the daylight.”

 

 

Zoro’s gaze tracked towards the window, then back to the chef. “Right.”

“You got somewhere you need to be, today?”

“No.” Zoro’s fingers stroked against Sanji’s ribs. “Not working again till tomorrow.”

“Me either.” Sanji settled his head more comfortably against the pillow. “And I feel like taking things easy. How about I fix us some breakfast, and then we could just hang out for a while.”

“Sounds good to me.” Zoro nodded, before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. “Whuhahh... Man, I needed a good night’s sleep. I was pretty beat.”

“Didn’t seem like it last night,” commented Sanji, allowing a sly grin to come onto his face. “But does losing a fight usually affect your performance?”

Zoro gave him a look, before tightening his grip on the chef’s side in a hard squeeze. “Get over it, shit cook.”

“Hah. I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

 

 

Zoro rolled over onto his back with a groan, covering his eyes with one arm. “Fuck... Are you always like this when you wake up?”

“So, you’re not a morning person, then?” Sanji propped himself on one elbow, smiling down at the other man.

Zoro lifted his arm away and regarded him. “I like sleep.”

“I’m not opposed to it. But being awake has its compensations.”

“In the winter? It’s dark, it’s cold, there are a million people coughing and sneezing on you wherever you go...”

“It’s a time you can legitimately stay indoors and be cosy, invite friends round, enjoy good warming food...” Sanji gestured expansively.

Zoro grunted reluctant assent. “Whatever. I just prefer other times of year, is all. Winter can be a bitch.”

 

 

Remembering that Zoro had at least one major reason for finding winter a difficult time, Sanji relented. “Fair enough. But today is a day off: so let’s just relax and enjoy it. How does bacon and eggs for breakfast sound?”

“Great.” Zoro stretched both arms up, letting out another mighty yawn. Sanji waited until he was done, then leaned forward and kissed him. He felt Zoro’s arm slide round him, tugging him in slightly as the other man responded to the kiss: a low hum of approval. As their mouths parted, Zoro said, “Maybe breakfast could wait.”

Sanji let out a laugh. “Sure about that?”

For an answer, Zoro’s arm tightened round him.

 

 

 

 

In the event, it was some time later before they finally made it out of bed. Showering almost turned into another delay, but at last they were dressed and reached the kitchen. Sanji made coffee first, letting it brew while he started assembling what he needed for making breakfast. Or brunch, as it now turned out.

Zoro propped himself against a kitchen counter and watched him gathering utensils and laying out ingredients. “You need all that just to cook breakfast?”

“The short answer is yes. And just to avoid future confusion: when I cook, I don’t require assistance or a commentary. It’s okay with me if you want to be a bystander, as long as you do it in awed silence.”

Zoro let out a snort. “I’ll go meditate in the other room.”

“Excellent plan.” Sanji smoothly pushed down the plunger on the cafetière, before pouring out a mug of coffee and handing it to the other man. “Take this with you. See you in about half an hour.”

 

 

As always, once he was cooking Sanji fell into focussing entirely on the food. The simple morning rhythms of cracking eggs, slicing bread for toast, frying bacon perfectly crisp, served as his own culinary meditation. He hummed as he worked, taking sips of coffee from time to time; enjoying its pleasantly reviving taste and the savoury aromas of the foods he was preparing.

The scent of frying bacon had obviously reached the other room, too. When Sanji finally carried through two loaded plates in one hand and a platter of toast in the other to the main room, Zoro was still kneeling on the floor, but his gaze followed the food as it arrived. Sanji slid the plates onto the low table. “Breakfast is served. More coffee?”

Zoro nodded, moving to the table and sitting on the floor beside it. “Yeah... Thanks.”

Sanji made a quick trip back to the kitchen, returning with a refilled cafetière, cutlery, salt and pepper, and butter for the toast. “You want anything else?”

“No, this is great.” Zoro was already falling on the food, with evident enjoyment.

 

 

Sanji sat cross-legged with his back against the couch and started on his own breakfast. For a while there was a comfortable quiet, while they both concentrated on eating. It wasn’t until he’d finished, pushed back his plate and refilled his coffee cup that Sanji spoke again. “It bother you if I smoke while you’re still eating?”

Zoro shook his head. “They’re your lungs.”

Sanji made no reply to this, except to get up and fetch his cigarettes and lighter from his coat where it lay draped on the back of the couch. Returning to sit back on the floor he extracted a cigarette, lit up and inhaled pleasurably. “Ahh. That first hit of the day. Bliss.” At Zoro’s look, he raised his eyebrows. “I asked you if it bothered you.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why sucking on smoke equals enjoyable.”

“What, you never smoked?” A memory of part of their conversation in the restaurant last night came back into Sanji’s mind. “I thought you said you had a stoner friend, when you were younger. Are you telling me you didn’t toke with him?”

“Yeah, I smoked shit. But to get high. Not for the fun of smoking.” Zoro took a gulp of coffee. “Anyway... It must be a total pain in the ass to be a smoker.”

“How do you figure that?”

“It’s pretty much taboo wherever the hell you are nowadays, in public spaces. Don’t they give you shit about it at work?”

“We aren’t allowed to smoke in food prep areas. But there’s a really nice sleazy back alley that they let us addicts stand in when we need a fix.” Sanji smiled. “A lot of chefs smoke. Or drink. Or both.”

“How old were you when you started?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” Zoro regarded him. “And your old man let you get away with it?”

 

 

Sanji rested one elbow on the table. “He didn’t like it. But he knew there was no point turning it into yet another thing for us to fight each other about. Plus he could only enforce a smoking ban so far... I just got sneaky as fuck about it when he tried.”

“How come you started smoking in the first place?”

Sanji was silent for a moment. Looking at the tip of his cigarette. “Maybe it’s my French inheritance.” He met Zoro’s gaze. “So sophisticated, eh. I mean: you must’ve seen French actors, artists, intellectuals... Camus, for instance. Practically every photo I’ve ever seen of him he has a cigarette in his mouth.”

“You took up smoking when you were thirteen years old because you were inspired by some dead French philosopher?”

“No, craphead.” Sanji chuckled. “I took up smoking because I thought it looked cool. And it made me feel like a grown-up. Amongst other reasons.” He tapped a little ash from the end of his cigarette into the ashtray that stood in the centre of the table. “Anyway... everyone needs a few vices.”

 

 

Zoro used the last half-piece of toast to polish his plate, before inserting it into his mouth and downing it with another swallow of coffee. “I guess.”

“You want anything else to eat?”

“No, I’m good.” Zoro cradled his mug of coffee in both hands, elbows propped on the table. “Thanks for the food, again.”

“No problem. I like cooking for people. If they appreciate it.”

Zoro looked at him, one corner of his mouth lifting. “And if they don’t?”

“They get a lesson in manners. And no more meals from me.” Sanji met his gaze. “Good food deserves respect. And anyone who doesn’t appreciate the value of food pisses me off. The amount of food that gets thrown away in this country, when so many people go hungry... It truly fucks with my brain. That’s one of the downsides of working in restaurant kitchens. The waste that goes on.”

“Yeah, well... Those that can afford to, do what the fuck they want. I don’t see that changing any time soon.”

“Maybe not. Doesn’t stop me disliking the crappy way the system works.” Sanji looked at him. “Your friend Luffy, you said he was involved in anti-capitalist protests, or whatever... I’ll bet he doesn’t much like that kind of inequality, either.”

 

 

Zoro smiled wryly. “Political theory isn’t exactly Luffy’s strong point. But he’s got a heart a mile wide. If he thinks something or someone is hurting a friend, he jumps straight in there to try and fix it. Regardless of consequences.”

“Including getting arrested?”

“He’s lucky as fuck. So far.” Zoro shook his head. “I don’t know how he’s managed it, the number of crazy things he’s pulled, but he always walks away afterwards.”

“That’s a good talent to have.”

“Yeah. Especially where cops are concerned.” Zoro frowned slightly as he said this. “Once those fuckers get down on you, it can majorly mess with your life.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?”

“No. I never got into that kind of trouble.” Zoro didn’t elaborate on what kind of trouble he had gotten into, Sanji noticed. “But some of the kids I used to work with, coaching... They were forever getting stopped on the street, harassed by cops. And worse.” He was still frowning slightly. “And another friend of ours, he gets that shit all the time. As if he’s some badass gangbanger type. Which is hilarious if you actually know the guy, he runs a mile from trouble... But all the cops see is a young black dude, so naturally their tiny minds leap to the wrong conclusion.”

“Right. Another thing it doesn’t seem likely will change any time soon.” Sanji pulled a face. “Ah, let’s change the subject. Talking about the world’s woes is crappy for the digestion.”

“Okay by me.” Zoro nodded.

 

 

Sanji stretched, before reaching to where his coat lay on the back of the couch and retrieving his phone. Turning it on he checked the time. “Huh... It’s nearly midday.”

“I can head home, if you’ve got things you need to get on with.”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant.” Sanji laid his phone down on the table and smiled at the other man. “Like I said, we could just hang out for a while. Unless that sounds tedious.”

Zoro smiled too. “No. That sounds good to me. I could use a quiet day. S’been a busy week.”

“You said you were back at work tomorrow... That mean you only get the one day off?”

“Yeah.”

“That normal, at the gym? Sounds kind of demanding.”

“No... I just offered to pick up some extra classes, for a couple of people who were taking extra vacation over New Year. I don’t mind. It’s good to be busy.”

 

 

Sanji considered his next question before asking it. “Does that mean you’re working next Sunday again?”

Zoro shook his head. “The guys I’m covering for are back this week. I’ll just go back to my regular hours.”

“Right. So... do you want to meet up again, on Sunday? We could make a day of it... Meet for lunch, or something.”

“I won’t be free till the evening.”

“Oh.” Sanji felt deflated. “Okay.”

“But I’d really like to meet up with you.”

Sanji looked at the other man: Zoro was smiling at him. He felt his spirits revive. “Okay... Sunday evening, then.”

 

 

Zoro nodded. “I should be free by seven. I’ve got a kendo tournament but it’s right here in town, I should be done by early evening.”

“Kendo?” Sanji was instantly curious. “What, you’re competing?”

“Yeah, a team from our dojo is going. I’ll be fighting in a few shiai... How many, depends on what the competition is like.”

Sanji regarded him. “Can anyone go watch?”

Zoro shrugged. “Anyone who’s interested. They sell tickets on the door.” His dark eyes focussed on the chef, suddenly. “You saying you want to come?”

“Why not?” Sanji met his gaze. “I know nothing about kendo, but it sounds interesting. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

Zoro shook his head. “I’m okay with you coming along. You might want to bone up on the rules beforehand if you want to understand what’s going on, though.”

“Why, will there be a test afterwards?”

“No, shithead. But you’ll get a lot more out of watching a match if you know the basics.”

 

 

Sanji smirked. “Two guys shouting and hitting each other with sticks, right?” Zoro’s eyes narrowed, and Sanji held up a placatory hand. “Okay, relax. I’ll do my homework.”

Zoro let out a measured breath. “I don’t take kendo lightly. It’s important to me.”

Sanji sobered up. “Yeah. I get that.” He gave the other man a peace-making look. “That’s kind of why I’d like to see you doing it.”

Zoro studied him for a moment... Before giving a small nod. “Okay.”

“Okay. Good.” Sanji felt he’d successfully negotiated a potentially tricky moment. “What time and where?”

“It’s at a college gym, north side of town. I’ll check the address and send it you during the week. Tournament starts at ten-thirty, goes through the whole day: team matches in the morning, individual ones in the afternoon. Individual finals are scheduled for five o’clock.”

“Which you plan to be in, I’m guessing.”

Zoro let a predatory grin spread across his features. “You guess right.”

Sanji smiled, before stubbing out the end of his cigarette. “Cool.” He gathered up their empty plates from the table, smoothly getting to his feet. “I’ll just go stick these in the kitchen.”

“Need a hand?” Zoro looked up at him. “I can wash up.”

“Nah, leave ‘em. I’ll do it later on.” Sanji sauntered away.

 

 

When he returned to the main room Zoro had moved from the floor to the couch, sitting back with his elbow propped on the end, head resting on his hand. Sanji paused by his music system, switching it on and scrolling through options. “Some music okay?”

“Sure.”

“Any requests?”

“No country.”

“Not a big Nashville fan?” Sanji selected random shuffle as the simplest option and hit play, before crossing the room to the couch.

“Seriously not.”

“What do you like?” Sanji sat at the couch’s other end, pausing to give Zoro a quick interrogative glance before bringing his feet up onto it. Zoro nodded and Sanji stretched his legs out, resting his feet lightly in Zoro’s lap. “Apart from J-rock?”

“That was more Kuina’s thing... But yeah, I still listen to some of those bands. Ellegarden, The Pillows, Ling Tosite Sigure, to name a few.” Zoro rested a hand on one of Sanji’s feet. “And other stuff, eh... A whole bunch. Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against The Machine, Three Days Grace, Slipknot, Foo Fighters... Whatever’s good and loud. Mostly stuff other people tell me about, I don’t have the time to seriously get into bands.” His thumb circled idly against Sanji’s heel; stroked up to his sole. “How about you?”

 

 

Sanji, slightly distracted by the slide of Zoro’s thumb along the arch of his foot, had to refocus. “Uh. I like pretty much everything. Which you can probably deduce from my random music selection.”

Zoro cocked his ear towards the speakers. “Random can be good. Who’re we listening to right now?”

“Rachid Taha. He’s Algerian, does a kind of mix of punk and raï and north African roots-type music. The track’s called _Tékitoi_.”

Zoro nodded, evidently still listening to the music. “It’s good.”

“Yeah, I like his stuff a lot. I’ve been to see him play a couple of times, he’s great live.”

“You go to gigs much?”

“No. The work I do, you don’t tend to have a whole lot of free evenings or weekends.”

“Maybe that’ll change, when you get your business up and running.”

“Maybe. Although most people I’ve met who’re self employed seem to work a lot of hours too.” Sanji shrugged. “But that doesn’t really bother me. If you enjoy what you do, it’s okay to work at it.”

 

 

Zoro nodded. His thumb was still circling lightly against Sanji’s foot: all at once, the feeling became overly sensitive, so that Sanji’s toes flexed in reaction. “...Nnh.”

One corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted up. “You ticklish?”

“Yeah, like everyone is there!” Sanji twisted his foot, starting to lift it away... but Zoro closed his hand around it, firmly. “Hey - quit it, craphead!”

“Relax.” Zoro looked at him, moving his other hand to clasp it around Sanji’s foot too.

“I will, if you let go - ”

“Take it easy, cook.” Zoro’s grip shifted, his fingers curling round the top of Sanji’s foot, both thumbs coming to rest in the centre of his sole. And then, instead of the maddeningly light brush that had made Sanji want to pull away, came a firm steady pressure. A pressure that worked into the muscles of his foot; slowly travelled outwards; then returned to the centre of his foot and repeated the movement. Sanji froze, his leg still tensed, but caught by the feel of those strong hands. The way the tips of Zoro’s thumbs pressed in almost to the point of discomfort, but then eased off just enough as they moved, loosening every knot and point of tension in his foot. Slowly he found himself allowing his leg to relax, yielding to the other man’s touch. And not just yielding: as Zoro’s hands continued to work, kneading into the sinews and joints, carefully flexing the foot one way then the other, Sanji felt a creeping sense of enjoyment that almost had him purring like a giant cat.

 

 

Feeling his brain nearly disconnecting, he attempted to keep himself grounded with conversation. “Uh... That feels pretty good.” Which was the truth, if by _pretty good_ you meant _borderline erotic._ “You, ah... do this for your clients at the gym?”

Zoro snorted, his hands still working on Sanji’s foot. “Not fucking likely.” He frowned slightly, apparently locating a point that needed more attention: as his thumb worked at the spot Sanji first twitched, then let out a breath as discomfort dissolved under Zoro’s touch. “That hurt?”

“No. It’s okay.” Sanji shifted slightly on the couch, letting himself stretch out a little more. “Not part of the personal trainer package, then?”

“No.” Zoro released his hold, shifting his hands to Sanji’s other foot. “But I did a sports massage course a while back. Thought it might come in useful... Y’know, for injuries and stuff.”

“From kendo, or your work in general?”

“Both.” Zoro dug his thumbs in again. “Relax your foot.”

“Easier said than done, when you do that.” Sanji breathed out steadily. “Nngh.”

“I said relax, shit cook.” Zoro pressed in firmly. “Oi, that’s a knot... Was it the sparring yesterday did this?”

“No. Occupational hazard. Being a chef and all.” At Zoro’s raised eyebrow, Sanji elaborated. “Standing up in restaurant kitchens ten hours a day on tile floors. It fucks up your feet. Not to mention, your back.”

 

 

Zoro grunted. “Never realised cooking was such a hazardous business.”

“This coming from a guy who sword-fights.” Sanji winced at particularly vigorous manipulation of his foot.

“Kendo isn’t as dangerous as some martial arts. We’re wearing bōgu, for starters.”

“Well sure, that must protect a lot of your body. But are you telling me you’ve never had an injury?”

“I’ve had a few. Minor stuff, mostly.” Zoro gave Sanji’s foot a last flex, before letting his hands come to rest. “More when I was starting out, than in the last couple of years. Generally if you get hit somewhere the bōgu isn’t protecting you from strikes, it’s because you did something wrong. Unless your opponent has lousy technique, in which case you’re both screwed.”

Sanji clasped his hands behind his head, regarding the other man. “Okay. So, what kind of injuries have you had?”

 

 

Zoro held up one hand, unfolding fingers one at a time as he listed off. “Torn rotator cuff in the left shoulder. Busted collarbone, when a heavy-handed asshole missed a men strike. Couple of cracked ribs. Strained Achilles tendon. That’s about it, apart from a shitload of bruises just about everywhere. And blisters when I was starting out.” He paused for a moment, apparently thinking. “And I’ve had busted toes a few times, I guess.”

“Broken toes?” Sanji raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. I’ve lost track of the number of times an opponent’s stomped my foot in a shiai. It’s easy to do, when you’re both moving towards each other for a strike. Busted toes, cut feet; it happens. A few times I’ve had toenails ripped off.”

“Argh.” Sanji curled his own toes. “Nice.”

Zoro got a grim smile on his face. “One time I was fighting against this guy and he caught his foot in the bottom of his hakama, the trousers we wear. I’ve done it myself... it’s a great way to sprain something. He was jumping forward to make a strike, so his foot was moving pretty fast.”

“What happened, did he accidentally yank down his trousers? That must rank pretty high in the list of all-time embarrassing kendo moments.”

“No. His big toe bone ripped through the skin on the sole of his foot.” Zoro’s thumb found the ball of Sanji’s right foot and pressed against it. “About there.”

 

 

This time Sanji pulled his foot away. “That is a deeply disturbing story and one which I’m now going to have to erase from my mind. Otherwise I’m going to spend next Sunday wondering if I’m going to see some poor sucker get maimed.”

“I doubt it.” Zoro shook his head. “Like I said, kendo’s usually a pretty safe martial art. You see a lot worse injuries in muay Thai or boxing. And if someone’s stupid enough to try something in a shiai that’s aimed at deliberately hurting their opponent, the shinpan will be all over their ass. Those guys don’t miss a thing when they’re refereeing. They’re all experienced kendōka, they know what kind of shit people sometimes try to pull in a match situation.”

“It gets pretty competitive then, I take it?”

Zoro shrugged. “Depends on the tournament, and on who’s competing. But as a kendōka, you’re always out there to win. It’s about attitude and focus as much as technique. I’ve fought some guys who were full-on wielding their shinai, but they lost the match because their zanshin sucked.” At Sanji’s look, Zoro translated. “Their spirit, their alertness. They could whack you hard enough you saw birds and stars, but they didn’t follow through. You sometimes get that, in competition. Opponents who try to do it by force. It’s shitty technique... Their sensei should be picking them up on it.”

“Do you teach?”

“Yeah, I’m a 4th dan, so I can. I work a bit with kids at the club who are starting out... And practice with other kendōka in the club I go to, help them improve technique. And teaching’s a good way to get better yourself.” Zoro pulled a face. “Though an evening of getting repeatedly whacked over the knuckles by your sensei demonstrating kote strike technique over and over to newbies isn’t exactly fun.”

 

 

Sanji smiled. “It’s good that you teach, though. I’ll bet those kids appreciate it.”

“I guess.” Zoro acknowledged the chef’s words with a brief nod. “I know I appreciated what Koshiro did for me, when I was starting out. He was a fantastic sensei... I was lucky.”

Sanji regarded him, thoughtfully. “You still keep in touch with him?”

“Yeah. I don’t get to see him that often, but we write each other a lot. After...” Zoro paused, frowning just a little, then continued. “When I started hanging out with Luffy, the first thing he got me to do was get back in touch with Koshiro. I felt bad, about... dropping everything and fucking up, but also about not contacting him for months. But a week after I wrote to him I got a letter back, saying he was really glad I was okay. And now we write regularly, like I said. A couple of times I’ve visited him, or we’ve met up after a kendo tournament. It’s good. We don’t talk about... what happened, but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to family, I guess.”

 

 

There were a few moments of quiet, between them. Then Zoro’s gaze shifted to Sanji. “And your old man... You see much of him?”

“Zeff? As little as fucking possible.” Sanji folded his arms across his chest. “That crappy old geezer is bad for my blood pressure.”

“You don’t get on with him?”

“Zeff doesn’t get on with the entire world. Me included, I don’t get special privileges.” Sanji reached for his cigarettes. “He has two settings: basic obnoxious, and borderline psychotic. Which isn’t unusual for a chef.”

“You including yourself in that description?”

“I may occasionally get testy in the kitchen. Not as bad as him, though.”

“He ever hit a customer?” Zoro grinned.

 

 

Sanji gave him a look, lighting up a cigarette. “No. Not that he’s ever admitted. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d murdered someone and served them up as prime rib. And working for him was twenty kinds of hell.”

“Yeah, you said he’d gotten you helping out in his restaurant kitchen when you were younger. How’d that go?”

“We got on like a house on fire.” Sanji drew on his cigarette. “Screaming, flames, people running out of the wreckage.”

Zoro chuckled. “Sounds interesting.”

“It was purgatory. I learned a lot – mainly because if I didn’t do stuff right he yelled at me even more – but the two of us are basically incapable of coexisting in a kitchen. He is a good chef... I’ll give him that. But he’s also a really annoying old bastard who never knows when to shut up.”

“What’s he think of this idea of you starting your own business?”

“I haven’t told him, yet. The last thing I want is his opinion.”

“You don’t think he’ll be supportive?”

“The number of times Zeff has approved of something I’ve done in my life, I can count on the fingers of one hand. I’d rather wait till I’m up and running before I tell him about it.”

“Okay... Fair enough.”

 

 

Sanji drew in a lungful of smoke; released it slowly towards the ceiling. “Anyway... I’ve got some work to do, before that happens. Got a ton of tasks on that list I put together with Nami, to work through this week. Including writing a business plan... Shit, I am not looking forward to that.”

“Hardest part is starting something,” Zoro commented. “Once you’re writing it, you’ll be okay.”

“At least I’ve got Nami to hold my hand through all this. I’d be screwed if I had to do this without her help.”

“You’d probably manage okay. But for sure, having someone who knows how to do it should make it easier.”

“I’ll have to think of a way to really thank her for doing this. She said she wouldn’t accept any money for her time... Maybe I could buy her a present.”

“Didn’t you cook her dinner?”

“Yeah, but we do that anyway. This is different.” Sanji laid back against the end of the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. “What would be a good gift, for such a gorgeous woman?”

 

 

Zoro snorted. “That’s out of my area of expertise.”

Sanji looked at him. “Buying presents?”

“Buying presents for women.”

“Philistine. It’s nice to buy gifts for beautiful ladies.”

“If you say so.”

“Thinking about what they would like, choosing the perfect thing... Then giving them the gift and watching how much pleasure it brings them.” Sanji gestured with one hand. “Making them happy.”

Zoro leaned over to Sanji’s end of the couch, bending his head down and giving the chef a kiss. “You are such a sap.”

“Neanderthal.”

“Lecher.”

“Barbarian.” Sanji let himself be kissed again. “With some redeeming features.”

“Yeah?” Zoro let his hand settle on the chef’s hip. “Such as?”

“Your overwhelming tact and social graces.” Sanji stretched sideways with his arm, just managing to reach the ashtray on the table, and stubbed out his cigarette. “Plus you have a certain animal charm.”

 

 

Zoro’s fingers slid under the edge of Sanji’s shirt, as he bent his head down to kiss the chef again. “That so?”

“Of course, I didn’t say which animal.” Sanji felt Zoro’s hand drift up his side. The other man’s weight shift as they aligned along the couch, sliding closer together.

“Ha...” Zoro’s mouth grazed along Sanji’s neck, nipping gently against the skin. “Careful, cook.”

“A predator of some kind.” A smile curved the chef’s lips. “Maybe... a shark.” He felt Zoro give a huff of laughter, the breath warm against his neck; then a moment later, the slightly harder pressure of teeth against skin. Followed by Zoro’s low, amused voice. “You think sharks are charming?”

“I like sharks.”

“You like dangerous things?”

“Maybe.” Sanji lifted his head and met the other man’s gaze with a sly smile. “How about you?”

Zoro studied his face for a moment... before his expression changed slowly, into an answering smile. And then he bent down and found Sanji’s mouth with his own.

_Done talking._

Sanji felt his arms go up and wrap round Zoro’s shoulders, pulling the other man against him. Feeling warmth and wanting and pleasure and the backbeat of his heart loud in his ears. Tasting Zoro, taking him in. Knowing this, right now, was exactly what he wanted.

_No maybe about it._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason this chapter took forever to write... But the next fic in this Wild Combination series will include more interaction with other OP characters. Soz for the wait, been working a lot and then ill (winter, meh) so it's been hard to get the energy to write fanfic. Hope this doesn't put you lovely readers off... I really truly appreciate the kudos and comments, you are so lovely for leaving them. Thank you! <3 :-)


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